Revenge is the sweetest way to say you are a coward to face your enemies without hurting them When you find revenge in your heart do this for yourself 'Pray and let go of the anger within
The new kind of music seems to create not from the heart but from the head. Its composers think rather than feel. They have not the capacity to make their works exalt - they meditate, protest, analyze, reason, calculate and brood, but they do not exa...
I took the sheep and cut their throats over the pit, and let the dark blood flow. Then there gathered the spirits of the dead, brides and unwed youths, old men worn out by labour, and tender maidens with hearts still new to sorrow.
what it is...is a place where I can return to myself. It's enough of a scramble to get to...that the energy expended is significant, and it translates into a change in my body chemistry and my psychological chemistry and my heart chemistry...
The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one: Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done.
Prayer, to the patriarchs and prophets, was more than the recital of well-known and well-worn phrases. It was the outpouring of the heart. Beset by perils, persecutions, pain and privations, they naturally turned to God in their need, believing that ...
No religion with a universal message . . . under one flag can even momentarily entertain the idea of employing force to spread its message. Swords can win territories, but not hearts. Force can bend heads, but not minds.
Chleo clutched her chest in agony. Drowning in her own sorrow. Her own lonelyness. How was she still alive? Everyone knew it was impossible to live without a heart. And Nick had just taken hers with him.
To live in denial of caring deeply, to hold oneself back from speaking from the heart as a means of self protection, to speak in whispers, to describe what you have together as "this." Oh the sweet sadness of forbidden love.
He slides himself inside her, her heart is bursting. The pithy organic organ can't hold all that she feels for this man. When she reaches her peak, her brain supernovas, a small, perfect death.
The feeling cannot be described in words, it's mystical; I am changing. Perhaps the soul needed silence so that it can shout to hear the echo from the walls of my heart. It did heard something, Sufism!
This is a tale of woe. This is a tale of sorrow. A love denied, a love restored, to live beyond tomorrow. Lest we think silence is the place to hide a heavy heart, remember, to love and be loved is life itself without which we are nought.
Our natural state is trust in ourselves in others until we learn differently then we hurt as we try to unlearn it until it dawns on our hearts that if we live and act with pure intent we do not need trust.
Do not write if there is no tremendous urge to do so. At the heart, there must be an inspiration or muse or one of those old-fashioned things. Else, why bore yourself, destroy other people's interest and kill trees?
Earning trust is not about proving a point; if you govern your self-integrity and lifestyle enough to trust yourself, it becomes self evident enough to invite those who will volunteer to entrust you with what's valuable to their hearts.
Our errors are surely not such awfully solemn things. In a world where we are so certain to incur them in spite of all our caution, a certain lightness of heart seems healthier than this excessive nervousness on their behalf.
Everybody is probably guilty of something. I'm sure that if anyone looked into my heart long enough, they could say, you know, 'Bill had some unkind thoughts back in second grade.'
Vietnam helped me to look at the horror and terror in the hearts of people and realize how we can't aim guns and set booby traps for people we have never spoken a word to. That kind of impersonal violence mystifies me.
I have much to learn from my daughter Sofia. Her minimalism exposes my limitations: I'm too instinctive and operatic, I put too much heart into my work, I get lost sometimes in bizarre things - it's my Italian heritage.
So is man's heart. The desire to perform a work which will endure, which will survive him, is the origin of his superiority over all other living creatures here below. It is this which has established his dominion, and this it is which justifies it, ...
I always follow my heart and my guts. If I want to do something, I have immense belief in hard work and myself. I have it in me to do well anywhere and in anything I do. I have a deep desire to excel in everything I do.
