Good prose should be transparent, like a window pane.
If the door is locked, try the window.
A pessimist doesn't see the sunset outside, he sees the dirt on the window.
The whole purpose of education is to turn mirrors into windows.
I sometimes say to people, "I am a window frame - no more. The window frame is not that important. What is important is the light that comes through the window.
Sometimes the best of gods gift's arrive by the shattering of all the window panes.
A habit cannot be tossed out the window; it must be coaxed down the stairs a step at a time.
You can't make an architect. But you can open the doors and windows toward the light as you see it.
This world is full of remedies. But you have no remedy until God opens a window for you. You may not be aware of that remedy just now. In the hour of need it will be made clear to you. The Prophet said God made a remedy for every pain.
Close a door, and you'd still feel a breeze through the window.
Because forgiveness is like this: a room can be dank because you have closed the windows, you've closed the curtains. But the sun is shining outside, and the air is fresh outside. In order to get that fresh air, you have to get up and open the window and draw the curtains apart.
There is much virtue in a window. It is to a human being as a frame is to a painting, as a proscenium to a play, as 'form' to literature. It strongly defines its content.
In my head there are several windows, that I do know, but perhaps it is always the same one, open variously on the parading universe.
The window of heaven is what all truth seekers are trying to open.
Bad weather always looks worse through a window.
Strange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.
Keep passing the open windows.
What you really want for yourself is always trying to break through, just as a cooling breeze flows through an open window on a hot day. Your part is to open the windows of your mind.
A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked.
Her imagination was by habit ridiculously active; when the door was not open it jumped out the window.
All I’ve ever done is dream. That, and only that, has been the meaning of my existence. The only thing I’ve ever really cared about is my inner life. My greatest griefs faded to nothing the moment I opened the window onto my inner self and lost myself in watching. I never tried to be anything other than a dreamer. I never paid any attention to people who told me to go out and live. I belonged always to whatever was far from me and to whatever I could never be. Anything that was not mine, however base, always seemed to be full of poetry. The only thing I ever loved was pure nothingness.
May I kiss you then? On this miserable paper? I might as well open the window and kiss the night air.
There was something awesome in the thought of the solitary mortal standing by the open window and summoning in from the gloom outside the spirits of the nether world.
There are possibilities that dreams are our little windows upon a parallel timeline.
I went window shopping today! I bought four windows.
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