Under the olive trees, from the ground Grows this flower, which is a wound. It is easier to ignore Than the heroes' sunset fire Of death plunged in their willed desire Raging with flags on the world's shore.
In railway halls, on pavements near the traffic, They beg, their eyes made big by empty staring And only measuring Time , like the blank clock. No, I shall weave no tracery of pen-ornament To make them birds upon my singing tree: Time merely drives these lives which do not live As tides push rotten stuff along the shore.
Lacan is a tyrant who must be driven from our shores. Narrowly trained English professors who know nothing of art history or popular culture think they can just wade in with Lacan and trash everything in sight.
You do not attain to knowledge by remaining on the shore and watching the foaming waves, you must make the venture and cast yourself in, you must swim, alert and with all your force, even if a moment comes when you think you are losing consciousness; in this way, and in no other, do you reach anthropological insight.
From the shore, the ocean is forever. It's a beautiful, dangerous place. Music is tied to the sea, born from the struggle, looking for hope. Because hope belongs in the dark places.
To those who view the voyage of life from the port of departure the bark that has accomplished any considerable distance appears already in close approach to the farther shore.
One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time. Variants include "You can never cross the ocean unless you have the courage to lose sight of the shore".
Natalie Bakopoulos has that rare gift, the ability to imagine a traumatic historical event in the form of individual lives and ordinary details. The Green Shore is compelling, personal, and full of quietly real moments.
The land is dearer for the sea, The ocean for the shore.
The primordial sea indefatigably repeats the same words and casts up the same astonished beings on the same sea-shore.
Lo! body and soul!--this land! Mighty Manhattan, with spires, and The sparkling and hurrying tides, and the ships; The varied and ample land,--the South And the North in the light--Ohio's shores, and flashing Missouri, And ever the far-spreading prairies, covered with grass and corn.
Melancholy had crept inside me. Small children made me cry, I got depressed eating meat, old book bindings awakened tenderness in me. Everything was disintegrating. Nothing stood the test of time, including me. Somewhere on the other shore were madness and God, sometimes both wearing a beard. Neither instilled much confidence.
What though the sea be calm? trust to the shore, Ships have been drown'd, where late they danc'd before.
Searching for a boy in high school is as useless as searching for meaning in a Pauly Shore movie.
My mom and dad are both in stand-up comedy, so that's where I started, that's where I got everything. My roots are holding the mic.
A victory? What have we won? We've won a rock in the middle of a wasteland, on the shores of a poisoned sea.
Thousands of stars in the night sky, And shells on the shore together, Hundreds of birds that go singing by, Especially in sunny weather. Millions of dewdrops to greet the dawn, Thousands of leaves in the fall, Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn, But only one father, that's all. Happy Birthday To the One and Only
The surface of the Earth is the shore of the cosmic ocean.
Part of America's genius has always been its ability to absorb newcomers, to forge a national identity out of the disparate lot that arrived on our shores.
When you ride in a boat and watch the shore, you might assume that the shore is moving. But when you keep your eyes closely on the boat, you can see that the boat moves. Similarly, if you examine myriad things with a confused body and mind you might suppose that your mind and nature are permanent. But when you practice intimately and return to where you are, it will be clear that there is nothing that has unchanging self.
I am jealous of all those people who live on the shore of Dal Lake.
As I looked down, I saw a large river meandering slowly along for miles, passing from one country to another without stopping. I also saw huge forests, extending along several borders. And I watched the extent of one ocean touch the shores of separate continents. Two words leaped to mind as I looked down on all this: commonality and interdependence. We are one world.
I'm afraid to be on this shore a trunk without limbs, and what I most regret is not to have flower, pulp, or clay for the worm of my suffering.
Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were headed for shore.
Minds like beds always made up (more stony than a shore) unwilling or unable.
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