I must exchange whispers with God before shouts with the world.
This is a place where grandmothers hold babies on their laps under the stars and whisper in their ears that the lights in the sky are holes in the floor of heaven.
To those of you who seek lost objects of history, I wish you the best of luck. They're out there, and they're whispering.
The melancholy river bears us on. When the moon comes through the trailing willow boughs, I see your face, I hear your voice and the bird singing as we pass the osier bed. What are you whispering? Sorrow, sorrow. Joy, joy. Woven together, like reeds in moonlight.
I sat on the hill, the wind whispering through the long grass that surrounded me. I stared at the stars and wanted more than what I was and more than what the world was and just - wanted.
If God had wanted to be a big secret, He would not have created babbling brooks and whispering pines.
Yosemite Valley, to me, is always a sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of stone and space. I know of no sculpture, painting or music that exceeds the compelling spiritual command of the soaring shape of granite cliff and dome, of patina of light on rock and forest, and of the thunder and whispering of the falling, flowing waters. At first the colossal aspect may dominate; then we perceive and respond to the delicate and persuasive complex of nature.
What I admire is people who are grounded and resistant to all kinds of whisperings. Kimi Raikkonen, for example. You may like him or not, but he lives his way. He does the things he has identified as worthy for him and he is not trying to be everybody’s darling. At least he doesn’t give that impression. He is straightforward and honest and he tells you if he has a bad day. Period. He is real. He’s not political. He’s never up to something. If he doesn’t want to tell you something he will say so and not hum and haw. He doesn’t beat around the bush, never coming to the point.
We exist with a wind whispering inside and our moon flexing. Amid the ducts, inside the basilica of bones.
When discovered by his wife, kissing the maid, Groucho said, "I was just whispering in her mouth"
The way to deal with worldly people is to frighten them by repeating their scandalous whisperings aloud.
Kids need to remember that when you put something on Twitter, it's not like whispering to your friend, you've put it on a billboard that the whole world, including your own kids someday, can see.
I'm whispering so that the media doesn't hear me.
Whispering makes a narrow place narrower.
The first time I did a reading/signing thing at Cody's, the woman who did the introduction said something like that, and I wasn't the only one cringing. I remember looking out into the audience and seeing people's faces and people whispering to each other, and thinking like "Ugh, can we just cancel the whole thing? I can't go out there after she said that."
The best thing is to go from nature's God dawn to nature; and if you once get to nature's God, and believe Him, and love Him, it is surprising how easy it is to hear music in the waves, and songs in the wild whisperings of the winds; to see God everywhere in the stones, in the rocks, in the rippling brooks, and hear Him everywhere, in the lowing of cattle, in the rolling of thunder, and in the fury of tempests. Get Christ first, put Him in the right place, and you will find Him to be the wisdom of God in your own experience.
Each thing organizes the space around it, rebuffing or sidling up against other things; each thing calls, gestures, beckons to other beings or battles them for our attention; things expose themselves to the sun or retreat among the shadows, shouting with their loud colors or whispering with their seeds; rocks snag lichen spores from the air and shelter spiders under their flanks; clouds converse with the fathomless blue and metamorphose into one another; they spill rain upon the land, which gathers in rivulets and carves out canyons.
Our self-trust is such a subtle thing that it still comes around whispering to us even after we are sure it is gone.
When we're dancing it almost feels the same, I've got to stop myself from whispering your name.
A fiction writer is never entirely alone. Her characters are constantly whispering in her ear.
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.
Love is the voice of God whispering to you from within yourself.
We got quiet. The garden was combing her hair and putting on earrings. The house was full of dancing creatures, not male and female but both, two lovers in one body. The books downstairs were reciting their poetry to each other, rubbing together, whispering through the leather covers. Wine was flowing through the water pipes. You had caught my leaping heart in your hand like a fish.
The best things about womanhood might possibly even be the conversations. The chatting. The gabbing. The whispering. The hands-on-hips eye-rolling. The yukking-it up.
There is something powerful in the whispering of obscenities, about those in power. There's something delightful about it, something naughty, secretive, forbidden, thrilling. It's like a spell, of sorts. It deflates them, reduces them to the common denominator where they can be dealt.
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