And now, my poor old woman, why are you crying so bitterly? It is autumn. The leaves are falling from the trees like burning tears- the wind howls. Why must you mimic them?
Nobody leaves a house where there is peace, joy and good sex.
I think that Jean Houston has broken through to a new understanding of the sense and uses of inward-turned contemplation-a n understanding that leaves the Freudian schools of technique and theory far behind. The accent is not on the curing of disease but on the enlargement, rather, of our health.
A woman once described a friend of hers as being such a keen listener that even the trees leaned toward her, as if they were speaking their innermost secrets into her listening ears. Over the years I’ve envisioned that woman’s silence, a hearing full and open enough that the world told her its stories. The green leaves turned toward her, whispering tales of soft breezes and the murmurs of leaf against leaf.
No matter what trials we face, Christ never leaves us. He is with us every step of the way!
Once you accept, truly accept, that stuff will happen to you and there is nothing you can do about it, stress miraculously leaves your life.
In life, when stuff happens the instinct is to close off your heart. By leaving your heart open, it leaves room for someone else to come in.
. . . a man leaves much when he leaves his own country.
This great blue world of ours is but a house of leaves, moments before the wind.
You're never going to find a guy who's exactly like you - first of all, because that guy never leaves his dorm room.
One felt as if there was an enormous well behind them. Filled up with ages of memory and long, slow, steady thinking; but their surface was sparkling with the present : like sun shimmering on the outer leaves of a vast tree, or on the ripples of a very deep lake. I don’t know, but I t felt as if something that grew in the ground—asleep, you might say, or just feeling itself as something between roof-tip and leaf-tip, between deep earth and sky had suddenly waked up, and was considering you with the same slow care that it had given to its own inside affairs for endless years.
He types his labored column - weary drudge! Senile fudge and solemn: spare, editor, to condemn these dry leaves of his autumn.
Every life needs a little space. It leaves room for good things to enter it.
Dreams don't come true. Dreams die. Dreams get compromised. Dreams end up dealing meth in a booth at the back of the Olive Garden. Dreams choke to death on bay leaves. Dreams get spleen cancer.
After that, Kasparov stepped back from chess which is, and I want this to be clear, not good for chess in general at all. As a whole, the current situation in the chess world leaves a lot to be desired
A true gentleman never leaves his lady.
A lack of communication leaves fear and doubt.
Music Has Been There For Me When No One Else Was And The Only Thing That Stays When Everyone Else Leaves
I had no monarch in my life, and cannot rule myself; and when I try to organize, my little force explodes and leaves me bare and charred.
Even within the most beautiful landscape, in the trees, under the leaves the insects are eating each other; violence is a part of life.