Quotes about letting go
Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.
O dream, how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;
Where thirsting longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.
Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live
My very life again though cold in death:
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
Speak low, lean low
As long ago, my love, how long ago.
- quotes about dreaming
- quotes about beginning
- quotes about Sun
- quotes about life
- quotes about eyes
- quotes about death
- quotes about time
- quotes about love
Loving someone is setting them free, letting them go.
Forgiveness is letting go of the hope that the past can be changed.
That was my gift -- having the ability to put certain guys together that would create a chemistry and then letting them go letting them play what they knew, and above it.
Diplomacy is the art of letting someone else have your way.
My mind was a mirror:
It saw what it saw, it knew what it knew.
In youth my mind was just a mirror
In a rapidly flying car,
Which catches and loses bits of the landscape.
Then in time
Great scratches were made on the mirror,
Letting the outside world come in,
And letting my inner self look out.
For this is the birth of the soul in sorrow,
A birth with gains and losses.
The mind sees the world as a thing apart,
And the soul makes the world at one with itself.
A mirror scratched reflects no image—
And this is the silence of wisdom.
- quotes about birth
- quotes about flying
- quotes about intellect
- quotes about wisdom
- quotes about youth
- quotes about childhood
- quotes about sadness
- quotes about worry
- quotes about peace
After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes
After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions 'was it He, that bore,'
And 'Yesterday, or Centuries before'?
The Feet, mechanical, go round –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –
This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –
Broken Hearted Twice
The years are weighing me down most beloved
For i am but a shipwreck of a woman, my dear
Clinging to mid-lifes glorified Golden
Yet letting go of agony's bitter tears;
Looking through the windowpane of our life
Yellow fields-they oft' turn to pale green
Whispers from the winds of sweet surrender
Yet mistakes refuse to embellish my dreams;
Oh, oh, my most beloved
Am i now invisible to thine eye?
Do the Angels fear to tread near to me?
Or 'tis our re-union perhaps nigh?
Spheres of half-thought-half-spoken love words
Changed the course of Winters Arrows Of Ice
Tomorrow, oh tomorrow-what shall it bring-my darling?
In loving you-I am broken hearted...twice;
By: Theodora Onken
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The Truth the Dead Know
For my Mother, born March 1902, died March 1959
and my Father, born February 1900, died June 1959
Gone, I say and walk from church,
refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.
We drive to the Cape. I cultivate
myself where the sun gutters from the sky,
where the sea swings in like an iron gate
and we touch. In another country people die.
My darling, the wind falls in like stones
from the whitehearted water and when we touch
we enter touch entirely. No one's alone.
Men kill for this, or for as much.
And what of the dead? They lie without shoes
in the stone boats. They are more like stone
[...] Read more
Without sound, under the mirror of the lake deep and calm,
The swan hunts the waves with its large webbed feet
And glides. Its downy sides resemble
April snow melting in the sun;
But, firm and of matt white, vibrant in the zephyr breeze,
Its large wings spread just like a sailing boat.
He raises his beautiful neck above the reeds,
Diving, proceeding rising over the waters,
Its gracious curve like a profile of Acanthus,
And hides his black beak in his sparkling throat.
Soon along the pines, staying in the shade and peace,
He glides, and, letting the dense grass
Drag behind him like a comet's tail,
He walks with a stately and languishing allure;
The grotto, where the poet listens drawn by his senses
And by waters evoking tears of an eternal absence,
Pleases him: he prowls there; a willow leaf
Falling in silence brushing his shoulders;
Soon, he takes to the open air, and, far from the dark wood,
Superb, striking toward the sky,
[...] Read more
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