She sees things — things that might happen, things that are coming. But it’s very subjective. The future isn’t set in stone. Things change.
We say nothing essential about the cathedral when we speak of its stones. We say nothing essential about Man when we seek to define him by the qualities of men.
If you're feeling alone, and your weariness has grown, look up above, and thank God for His love. There's nothing you can do, to change His love for you; hold on friend, it's not the end. Something beautiful will come, the clouds will part for the sun, the skies will break for the Son, and the Father will say 'Well done.' But until then, until then, you're not alone. He can make bread from stone. Hold on to Him, and He'll hold on to you. Take one day at a time, pray for faith and be kind, and when forgetful becomes your mind, remember what He said, 'You are mine.'
This creature softened my heart of stone. She died and with her died my last warm feelings for humanity.
March on. Do not tarry. To go forward is to move toward perfection. March on, and fear not the thorns, or the sharp stones on life's path.
There is no "End" to be written, neither can you, like an architect, engrave in stone the day the garden was finished. A painter can frame his picture, a composer can notate his coda, but a garden is always on the move.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can make me think I deserved it.
In my earliest memory, my grandfather is bald as a stone and he takes me to see the tigers.
I stood looking down through the beech trees. When I threw a stone I could count to five before the splash. Then I jumped in a rush of gold to the head, through black and cold, red and cold, brown and warm, giving water the weight and size of myself in order to imagine it, water with my bones, water with my mouth and my understanding. When my body was in some way a wave to swim in, one continuous fin from head to tail, I steered through rapids like a canoe, digging my hands in, keeping just ahead of the river.
Why do you speak to me of the stones? It is only the arch that matters to me.
I am the dust in the sunlight, I am the ball of the sun . . . I am the mist of morning, the breath of evening . . . . I am the spark in the stone, the gleam of gold in the metal . . . . The rose and the nightingale drunk with its fragrance. I am the chain of being, the circle of the spheres, The scale of creation, the rise and the fall. I am what is and is not . . . I am the soul in all.
It's time for new bands to step up because KISS and Mtley Cre, Aerosmith, The [Rolling] Stones... we're not always gonna be here. Who's gonna replace us? There's no one out there. It's sad.
He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.
We take pleasure in truth and it amazes the eye of the viewer to see in stone, in canvas, or in wood an inanimate thing that seems to move.
Everyone faces defeat. It may be a stepping-stone or a stumbling block, depending on the mental attitude with which it is faced.
The future is not set in stone, and even if it was, stone can be broken.
You better start swimming, or you'll sink like a stone. Because the Time's they are a-changing.
The worst prison is not of stone. It is of a throbbing heart, outraged by an infamous life.
The past is history written in stone that can't be altered. The future is transitory and never guaranteed. Today is the only thing you can alter for certain. Make the most of it.
We Indians do not teach that there is only one god. We know that everything has power, including the most inanimate, inconsequential things. Stones have power. A blade of grass has power. Trees and clouds and all our relatives in the insect and animal world have power. We believe we must respect that power by acknowledging it's presence. By honoring the power of the spirits in that way, it becomes our power as well. It protects us.
Don't throw stones at your neighbors, if your own windows are glass.
Chiromancy is a stupidity! No man's fate is ever written on nowhere! In this universe, all the roads are our fate; all the stones and all the flowers are waiting for us! All the pages and all the days of the future are empty! On the roads to future, no one has footprints; we create them through walking!
Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new.
We measure our presence in generations; we cannot dig down ten thousand years and find our bones. Our arrival is scribed upon the line of history; it does not drift upon the winds of story, or float upon the shrouds of myth. We are still explorers and discoverers, seeking meaning through movement and examination. But we are coming to a time of listening. Our sweat and breath are now upon this land. Voices rise up, and we begin to hear the echoes in the stones.
The stone that was rolled before Christ's tomb might appropriately be called the philosopher's stone because its removal gave not only the pharisees but, now for 1800 years, the philosophers so much to think about.
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