Arrow Inspirational Quotes

I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.

Yes, yes. Aim for the sun. That way if you miss, at least your arrow will fall far away, and the person it kills will likely be someone you don't know.

Stillness is what aims the archer’s arrow. It inspires new ideas. It sharpens perspective and illuminates connections.

The way to write is to throw your body at the mark when your arrows are spent.

What a man wants is is an arrow into the future and what a woman is is the place the arrow shoots off from.

Work and learn in evil days, in insulted days, in days of debt and depression and calamity. Fight best in the shade of the cloud of arrows.

Delk shifted in his chair, the arrow point never wavering. "What do you want?" "Oh, the usual.World peace, a pair of Christian Louboton heels, a perfect wedding.

We are the archers with the bows that spring our children forward. Life does not go backward, nor does it tarry in yesterday. It is not a circle, but an arrow. It flies forward with the great express of Love.

Open the doors of your heart and they will come… And for every cruel arrow, Sweet caresses of delirium also To nourish your soul.

Four things come not back: the spoken word, the sped arrow, the past life, and the neglected opportunity.

All bowmen are caught between heaven and earth, born to discovery, choosing to love and raise their eyes high to a future that is apparent only through the strength of their hope.

A wise man ought always to follow the paths beaten by great men, and to imitate those who have been supreme, so that if his ability does not equal theirs, at least it will savor of it. Let him act like the clever archers who, designing to hit the mark which yet appears too far distant, and knowing the limits to which the strength of their bow attains, take aim much higher than the mark, not to reach by their strength or arrow to so great a height, but to be able with the aid of so high an aim to hit the mark they wish to reach

Suddenly I am furious, that with my life on the line, they don’t even have the decency to pay attention to me. That I’m being upstaged by a dead pig. (…) Without thinking, I pull an arrow from my quiver and send it straight at the Gamemakers’ table. (…) “Thank you for your consideration,

In a sudden inspiration, Florentino Ariza opened a can of red paint that was within reach of the bunk, wet his index finger, and painted the pubis of the beautiful pigeon fancier with an arrow of blood pointing south, and on her belly the words: This pussy is mine.

The best part of having your dreams come true is you get to make new ones!

There's a beautiful sound you hear When you learn to drown out the noise and chatter from other people It is you, the sound of your truth Your heart, your voice Untouchable and loud with love

Believe. Believe in your destiny and the star from which it shines. Believe you have been sent from God as an arrow shot from His own bow. It is the single universal trait that the great of this earth have all shared, while the shadows are fraught with ghosts who roam the winds with mournful wails of regret on their lips. Believe as if your life depended on it... for indeed it does.

Our beauty unfolds, we become. The ones that truly value you And the pricelessness of your presence Will stick around to watch the full beauty of the sunset As they gaze through to your soul And feel warmed by your charm As you unfold, as you become

The tragedy of a life that is never fully lived is not simply the loss of that one life. The tragedy is the endless number of lives that would have been forever changed if we had chosen to live differently.

Follow the arrow, wherever it points.

Keep moving through valleys to find your sight, As the dark becomes the light, Keep moving up mountains to find your strength, As you climb the hardest length.

If the mind can cause stress, the mind can alleviate it. It’s within our power to choose one thought over another — to choose optimism over pessimism.

When we are aware and sensitive to what’s happening, we can take steps to make things better.

When we are active, we become stronger and more energetic. This, in turn, makes us more positive and self-confident. It’s a powerful cycle.

There is an intrinsic connection between discipline and freedom that affects us in many aspects of our lives.

Ultimately, it is through short-term victories that we achieve our long-term goals.

Porcelain Heart I have grown into me I have become And I have swapped my pain for compassion My hurt for healing And my wounds for wisdom So I thank you To all those that demolished who I was So I could finally become And find the strongest parts of me Breaking the shell From the weaknesses of all those so cocooned in their unease

She could have wept. It was bad, it was bad, it was infinitely bad! She could have done it differently of course; the colour could have been thinned and faded; the shapes etherealised; that was how Paunceforte would have seen it. But then she did not see it like that. She saw the colour burning on a framework of steel; the light of a butterfly’s wing lying upon the arches of a cathedral. Of all that only a few random marks scrawled upon the canvas remained. And it would never be seen; never be hung even, and there was Mr Tansley whispering in her ear, “Women can’t paint, women can’t write ...” She now remembered what she had been going to say about Mrs Ramsay. She did not know how she would have put it; but it would have been something critical. She had been annoyed the other night by some highhandedness. Looking along the level of Mr Bankes’s glance at her, she thought that no woman could worship another woman in the way he worshipped; they could only seek shelter under the shade which Mr Bankes extended over them both. Looking along his beam she added to it her different ray, thinking that she was unquestionably the loveliest of people (bowed over her book); the best perhaps; but also, different too from the perfect shape which one saw there. But why different, and how different? she asked herself, scraping her palette of all those mounds of blue and green which seemed to her like clods with no life in them now, yet she vowed, she would inspire them, force them to move, flow, do her bidding tomorrow. How did she differ? What was the spirit in her, the essential thing, by which, had you found a crumpled glove in the corner of a sofa, you would have known it, from its twisted finger, hers indisputably? She was like a bird for speed, an arrow for directness. She was willful; she was commanding (of course, Lily reminded herself, I am thinking of her relations with women, and I am much younger, an insignificant person, living off the Brompton Road). She opened bedroom windows. She shut doors. (So she tried to start the tune of Mrs Ramsay in her head.) Arriving late at night, with a light tap on one’s bedroom door, wrapped in an old fur coat (for the setting of her beauty was always that—hasty, but apt), she would enact again whatever it might be—Charles Tansley losing his umbrella; Mr Carmichael snuffling and sniffing; Mr Bankes saying, “The vegetable salts are lost.” All this she would adroitly shape; even maliciously twist; and, moving over to the window, in pretence that she must go,—it was dawn, she could see the sun rising,—half turn back, more intimately, but still always laughing, insist that she must, Minta must, they all must marry, since in the whole world whatever laurels might be tossed to her (but Mrs Ramsay cared not a fig for her painting), or triumphs won by her (probably Mrs Ramsay had had her share of those), and here she saddened, darkened, and came back to her chair, there could be no disputing this: an unmarried woman (she lightly took her hand for a moment), an unmarried woman has missed the best of life. The house seemed full of children sleeping and Mrs Ramsay listening; shaded lights and regular breathing.

just say the word,” she tells me. there is something awe-inspiring about the way she always rushes in, arrows blazing, ready to defend my honor. she knows i’ve got this. i have dozens of scars to prove my resilience & i trusted her enough to show them to her.   “just say it,” she tells me. she only wants to reassure me she would throw herself to the wolves regardless.- huntress.

Failure is an arrow pointing the right direction.

a story that must be told never forgives silence

Greater awareness brings about a greater appreciation of the people, places, and things in our lives. The more observant we are, the richer our daily experiences become.

On clear nights, the moon casts a glow on everything uniformly. It doesn’t discriminate by shining on one pond and not on another.

Living in the moment does not mean forgetting about the past or ignoring the future. It means drawing on our past experiences and keeping the future in sight as we put all of our energy into the present.

We are evolutionarily hard-wired to prioritize negative stimuli because of the survival advantages this gives us. Evolution is blind, and it doesn’t necessarily care about our happiness. That’s up to us.

I don't really think of myself as an inspirational person. Instead, I tend to think of myself as being more like one of those guys standing on a busy street corner, twirling a a big pointed arrow. Except that my sign points toward Heaven.

Do not allow another person to set you back. Continue moving forward not backwards. When someone pulls you back, be like the arrow to a bow and spring forth greater than ever. And, what they thought would be your disadvantage, you turn it into your advantage.

Stillness is what aims the archer’s arrow. It inspires new ideas. It sharpens perspective and illuminates connections. It slows the ball down so that we might hit it. It generates a vision, helps us resist the passions of the mob, makes space for gratitude and wonder.

If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it; every arrow that flies feels the attraction of earth. –Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Here is the day for the man, where is the man for the day?

We are creatures of habit, and leveraging our habitual tendencies is one of the best ways to develop discipline.

A pine tree’s branches are pliable, so they will flex downward rather than snap under the weight of accumulating snow. This is Strength through Flexibility.

In the Ways, ji connotes skill and ri connotes inspiration. When one sees into the underlying principles, one's performance becomes inspired.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz or the arrow of the carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

Hunger Howls You will always feel hungry if you keep starving yourself to feed others The vacant call from your belly is a signal from your soul The calls turn into howls To realise your own worth To value the ribbons of love that are angelically sewn So deeply into every part of you You are a tapestry of fine and rare art With beauty in your bones Find yourself in you Feed yourself with love

Human Society Has Made Incredible Strides In Science And Technology Yet In Spite Of What Appears An Unstoppable Success March, A Small Poisonous Arrow Of Time-Wasting Obsession Could Be Our Weakness, Our Downfall”.

Craft the finest arrow Forage jungles for straightest shaft Forge sharpest head of glass Pluck feathers of the wisest crow Without the simplest archer and bow Without a mark that's true Useless Craft the finest vessel Fell the jungle's strongest mast Build the world's mightiest hull A flag the crown of all seas you can sew Without the simplest oarsmen to row Without a port that's true Useless

Children do not only have an innate hope; they are hope. And more than that: they are our future. As Kahlil Gibran writes, they are like "living arrows sent forth" into infinity, and their souls "dwell in the house of tomorrow..." They carry their hope with them to a future we can't see. Children come to us fresh from the divine source, from what I call "Mama," from life itself, and they lead us to the same: to the God-force within creation. That is why none of us - no matter our race, creed, religion, or politics - can look at a child and not feel joy. We look at them, and something thrills us to the depth of our hearts. They are living miracles, and when we see them we know that there is a God, that life itself is a miracle. Children show us, with their innocence and clarity, the very face of God in human form.

Suffice it to say I was compelled to create this group in order to find everyone who is, let's say, borrowing liberally from my INESTIMABLE FOLIO OF CANONICAL MASTERPIECES (sorry, I just do that sometimes), and get you all together. It's the least I could do. I mean, seriously. Those soliloquies in Moby-Dick? Sooo Hamlet and/or Othello, with maybe a little Shylock thrown in. Everyone from Pip in Great Expectations to freakin' Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre mentions my plays, sometimes completely mangling my words in nineteenth-century middle-American dialect for humorous effect (thank you, Sir Clemens). Many people (cough Virginia Woolf cough) just quote me over and over again without attribution. I hear James Joyce even devoted a chapter of his giant novel to something called the "Hamlet theory," though do you have some sort of newfangled English? It looks like gobbledygook to me. The only people who don't seek me out are like Chaucer and Dante and those ancient Greeks. For whatever reason. And then there are the titles. The Sound and the Fury? Mine. Infinite Jest? Mine. Proust, Nabokov, Steinbeck, and Agatha Christie all have titles that are me-inspired. Brave New World? Not just the title, but half the plot has to do with my work. Even Edgar Allan Poe named a character after my Tempest's Prospero (though, not surprisingly, things didn't turn out well for him!). I'm like the star to every wandering bark, the arrow of every compass, the buzzard to every hawk and gillyflower ... oh, I don't even know what I'm talking about half the time. I just run with it, creating some of the SEMINAL TOURS DE FORCE OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. You're welcome.

I, like many of you artists out there, constantly shift between two states. The first (and far more preferable of the two) is white-hot, ‘in the zone’ seat-of-the-pants, firing on all cylinders creative mode. This is when you lay your pen down and the ideas pour out like wine from a royal chalice! This happens about 3% of the time. The other 97% of the time I am in the frustrated, struggling, office-corner-full-of-crumpled-up-paper mode. The important thing is to slog diligently through this quagmire of discouragement and despair. Put on some audio commentary and listen to the stories of professionals who have been making films for decades going through the same slings and arrows of outrageous production problems. In a word: PERSIST. PERSIST on telling your story. PERSIST on reaching your audience. PERSIST on staying true to your vision ….

Embracing our Queen demands that we sacrifice old, outdated versions of ourselves which can be petrifying. Embracing your Queen is a choice, it is a sacred claiming of your realm and choosing the real estate of your story. It is trading in your running shoes for slippers, a bow and arrow for a crown and invisibility for sovereignty. Allowing yourself to be brave and uncertain, giving yourself divine permission to be seen, heard, celebrated, and criticised.

...Even [Helen of Troy’s] obsession with Paris was compelled by a poisoned arrow—what’s romantic about that?” “Passion,” Annabelle said, “Eros’s arrows are infused with passion.” “Oh, passion, poison,” Hattie said, “either makes people addle-brained.” She had a point. The ancient Greeks had considered passion a form of madness that infected the blood, and these days, it still inspired elopements and illegal duels and lurid novels. It could even lead a perfectly sensible vicar’s daughter astray.

To Whom it May Inspire,” Austin wrote. “I, like many of you artists out there, constantly shift between two states. The first (and far more preferable of the two) is white-hot, ‘in the zone’ seat-of-the-pants, firing on all cylinders creative mode. This is when you lay your pen down and the ideas pour out like wine from a royal chalice! This happens about 3% of the time. The other 97% of the time I am in the frustrated, struggling, office-corner-full-of-crumpled-up-paper mode. The important thing is to slog diligently through this quagmire of discouragement and despair. Put on some audio commentary and listen to the stories of professionals who have been making films for decades going through the same slings and arrows of outrageous production problems. In a word: PERSIST. PERSIST on telling your story. PERSIST on reaching your audience. PERSIST on staying true to your vision.…

The smoke stung at the corners of Uri’s eyes as he struggled to open them. He could hear the battle sounds all around him and smell the iron from the blood drenched warfare in the air. Much to his surprise, death had not yet claimed him. He could feel Raimie’s body under his own, no warmth came from him, however, and Uri feared the worse. Over his shoulder, he heard a large blast and the earth shook under him. The trackers had obviously followed someone through. There were hundreds of designated transportation locations as part of the evacuation drill. Absolutely nobody was allowed to transport directly to a primary facility for this exact reason. If a tracker were to follow your transportation signature to the next facility, the Guardians could be nearly wiped out in one night. The secrecy of the facilities and cloaking spells were key in their safety. Uri knew if he or Raimie had any chance of surviving, he needed to get clear of the fighting and find a healer. Attempting to sit up, he braced his weight on the earth just beside Raimie’s head. He quickly reconsidered as the unbearable pain shot through his side. Running his hand down to the source, he could feel the shaft of an arrow jutting out from his side; a warm wetness covered his fingertips. In the distance, Uri could hear someone crying out in agony, not a voice he recognized, yet the pain in it seemed all too familiar. Another blast rang out from behind him as Uri slumped to the ground, groaning in pain.

Dear Curses and Blessings, How could there be two in one? I never knew a person could be cursed and blessed. There’s no such thing as having both. There no such thing as taking sides when it comes to blessings and curses—I always thought that a person had to pick one. I would never have made the decision to be cursed. It was given to me. Well... Kace and I apparently have been the chosen ones. We’ve been the main target. When curses shot their arrows, they hit the bullseye faithfully, without fail. Why couldn’t we have been the chosen ones for bountiful blessings? It is a blessing that Kace is alive, but it is a curse that he was in danger. My emotions are a waterfall of never-ending thoughts of what is going to happen next. Kace has so many tubes in him—it is like he is being smothered, dissolving in webs of lies one after another. The same lies that my mother told him—she told me when I was younger. I am sure she told him she would keep him safe. I am more than sure she told the judge she had changed. Kace was coiled in a web of lies. Now he is coiled in wires to survive. Our lives are surrounded by many curses, but I know there must be a couple of blessings to be spared. Please. I am begging you to show us some mercy. I will accept our blessings even if they are thrown at us like breadcrumbs. I will fall to my knees and scramble to pick them up one by one. When will mine and Kace’s lives be gentle as a flowing stream without any worries? Right now, I have to pack my feelings and tears away. Cruses and blessings, please think about what I said.

Self-preservation is not a man’s first duty: flight is his last. Better and wiser and infinitely nobler to stand a mark for the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" and to stop at our post though we fall there, better infinitely to toil on, even when toil seems vain, than cowardly to keep a whole skin at the cost of a wounded conscience or despairingly to fling up work, because the ground is hard and the growth of the seed imperceptible. Prudent advices, when the prudence is only inspired by sense, are generally foolish.

Children Are a Gift Behold, children are a gift of the LORD; the fruit of the womb is a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one’s youth. —PSALM 127:3 NASB     In a recent women’s Bible study, the teacher asked the group, “Did you feel loved by your parents when you were a child?” Here are some of the responses. • “A lot of pizza came to the house on Friday nights when my parents went out for the evening.” • “I got in their way. I wasn’t important to them.” • “They were too busy for me.” • “Mom didn’t have to work, but she did just so she wouldn’t have to be home with us kids.” • “I spent too much time with a babysitter.” • “Mom was too involved at the country club to spend time with me.” • “Dad took us on trips, but he played golf all the time we were away.” So many of the ladies felt they were rejected by their parents in their childhoods. There was very little love in their homes. What would your children say in response to the same question? I’m sure we all would gain insight from our children’s answers. In today’s verse we see that children are a reward (gift) from the Lord. In Hebrew, “gift” means “property—a possession.” Truly, God has loaned us His property or possessions to care for and to enjoy for a certain period of time. My Bob loves to grow vegetables in his raised-bed garden each summer. I am amazed at what it takes to get a good crop. He cultivates the soil, sows seeds, waters, fertilizes, weeds, and prunes. Raising children takes a lot of time, care, nurturing, and cultivating as well. We can’t neglect these responsibilities if we are going to produce good fruit. Left to itself, the garden—and our children—will end up weeds. Bob always has a smile on his face when he brings a big basket full of corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, and beans into the kitchen. As the harvest is Bob’s reward, so children are parents’ rewards. Let your home be a place where its members come to be rejuvenated after a very busy time away from it. We liked to call our home the “trauma center”—a place where we could make mistakes, but also where there was healing. Perfect people didn’t reside at our address. We tried to teach that we all make mistakes and certainly aren’t always right. Quite often in our home we could hear the two

Next, comparing children to arrows in the hands of a warrior, Psalm 127:4-5 talks about how parents are to handle their offspring. Wise and skillful parents are to know their children, understand them, and carefully point them in the right direction before shooting them into the world. And, as you may have learned in an archery class, shooting an arrow straight and hitting a target is a lot harder in real life than it looks like in the movies or on TV. Likewise, godly and skillful parenting isn’t easy. The last section of today’s selection teaches the importance of the Lord’s presence in the home. • The Lord blesses a home that follows His ways (Psalm 128:1-2). • A wife who knows the Lord will be a source of beauty and life in the home (Psalm 128:3a). • With the Lord’s blessing, children will flourish like olive trees, which generously provide food, oil, and shelter (Psalm 128:3b). Ask yourself, What can I do to make the Lord’s presence more recognizable in our home? Or a more pointed question, What kind of steward am I being in my home? God has entrusted to you some very special people—your children. You will be held accountable for how you take care of them. But you’re not in it alone. God offers to walk with you today and always. He provides you with guidelines like those we looked at today, plus His wisdom and His love, to help you do the job and do it well.9 Prayer: Father God, forgive me for the ways I shortchange my children. Help me know how to slow down the pace of life. Help me stay very aware that my children will be with me for just a short time, and that how I treat them will affect them and their children’s lives too. Continue to teach me how to be the parent You want me to be. Amen.   Action: Give your child/children the gift of time—today and every day.   Today’s Wisdom: The Christian home is the Master’s workshop where the processes of character-molding are silently, lovingly, faithfully, and successfully carried on. —RICHARD M. MILNES

Frustration is an important directional arrow. It shows you where to go to move forward. And what to move away from.

listen to the stories of professionals who have been making films for decades going through the same slings and arrows of outrageous production problems. In a word: PERSIST. PERSIST on telling your story. PERSIST on reaching your audience. PERSIST on staying true to your vision.…

Use the arrows failure throws at you to hunt for success.

The Advent of Karna Now the feats of arm are ended, and the closing hour draws nigh, Music's voice is hushed in silence, and dispersing crowds pass by, Hark! Like welkin-shaking thunder wakes a deep and deadly sound, Clank and din of warlike weapons burst upon the tented ground! Are the solid mountains splitting, is it bursting of the earth, Is it tempest's pealing accent whence the lightning takes its birth? Thoughts like these alarm the people for the sound is dread and high, To the gate of the arena turns the crowd with anxious eye! Gathered round preceptor Drona, Pandu's sons in armour bright, Like the five-starred constellation round the radiant Queen of Night, Gathered round the proud Duryodhan, dreaded for his exploits done, All his brave and warlike brothers and preceptor Drona's son, So the gods encircled Indra, thunder-wielding, fierce and bold, When he scattered Danu's children in the misty days of old! Pale, before the unknown warrior, gathered nations part in twain, Conqueror of hostile cities, lofty Karna treads the plain! In his golden mail accoutred and his rings of yellow gold, Like a moving cliff in stature, arméd comes the chieftain bold! Pritha, yet unwedded, bore him, peerless archer on the earth, Portion of the solar radiance, for the Sun inspired his birth! Like a tusker in his fury, like a lion in his ire, Like the sun in noontide radiance, like the all-consuming fire! Lion-like in build and muscle, stately as a golden palm, Blessed with every very manly virtue, peerless warrior proud and calm! With his looks serene and lofty field of war the chief surveyed, Scarce to Kripa or to Drona honour and obeisance made! Still the panic-stricken people viewed him with unmoving gaze, Who may be this unknown warrior, questioned they in hushed amaze! Then in voice of pealing thunder spake fair Pritha's eldest son Unto Arjun, Pritha's youngest, each, alas! to each unknown! “All thy feats of weapons, Arjun, done with vain and needless boast, These and greater I accomplish—witness be this mighty host!” Thus spake proud and peerless Karna in his accents deep and loud, And as moved by sudden impulse leaped in joy the listening crowd! And a gleam of mighty transport glows in proud Duryodhan's heart, Flames of wrath and jealous anger from the eyes of Arjun start! Drona gave the word, and Karna, Pritha's war-beloving son, With his sword and with his arrows did the feats by Arjun done!

Consider precious your fundamental questions about life. Love that heart that holds doubt: Is this really all there is? Continue to dig into that mind. When your thirst for the Tao grows sharper and sharper and, like an arrow, pierces your soul, your eyes for seeing the Tao will start to open, like a chick breaking through its shell to emerge from its egg.

Not because you don’t see someone’s growth, does not mean growth is not there-On the FedEx logo, look at the white space between the E and x in “Ex”. Not because you don’t see the arrow, does not mean it is not there.

Hold your arrow and be focused to your game; the dart board is always in front of you not in back.

The Way by Maisie Aletha Smikle There is one Way And only one Way To get to God our heavenly Father The Way is through His only Son Not many ways are there only one If you are on your way But did not go through the Son Then you are lost Turn and make a U-turn Then go straight Turn neither to the left or right The street is narrow The road is a one-way street The arrow points in only one direction There are no roundabouts There are no intersections Continue till you reach your destination Refuel frequently with prayer Lest Lucifer gets you off track And recalibrate your GPS So you lose your way With Lucifer you are lost Lucifer is not the Way nor the Truth Neither is he Life or the Light Jesus is the Way Jesus is the Truth Jesus is the Life Jesus is the Light

One day it's the clouds, one day the mountains. One day the latest bloom of roses—the pure monochromes, the dazzling hybrids—inspiration for the cathedral's round windows. Every now and then there's the splendor of thought: the singular idea and its brilliant retinue— words, cadence, point of view, little gold arrows flitting between the lines. And too the splendor of no thought at all: hands lying calmly in the lap, or swinging a six iron with effortless tempo. More often than not splendor is the star we orbit without a second thought, especially as it arrives and departs. One day it's the blue glassy bay, one day the night and its array of jewels, visible and invisible. Sometimes it's the warm clarity of a face that finds your face and doesn't turn away. Sometimes a kindness, unexpected, that will radiate farther than you might imagine. One day it's the entire day itself, each hour foregoing its number and name, its cumbersome clothes, a day that says come as you are, large enough for fear and doubt, with room to spare: the most secret wish, the deepest, the darkest, turned inside out." "Splendor

Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future. You need not fear the terror of the night or the arrow that flies by day.

There is an old Georgian tale about the old king who was dying. He had twelve sons, and he called them all to his death bed. He gave them a bundle of twelve arrows to break them together. None of them could break the bundle. Then the king separated the bundle and gave each one an arrow, and as was expected, everyone was able to break it. The old king told them that if they would stay together, the enemy could never defeat them as they couldn’t break the bundle. But if they would separate, the enemy could conquer them easily. In a relationship, the enemy is any problem the couple has. Unfortunately, what often happens is that when the couple has arguments, they see each other as enemies, instead of seeing the problem itself as an enemy. It’s not “Me versus you,” it’s “Us versus the problem.” We don’t have to be separated when we have issues, we have to unite in order to resolve the issue.

The Kalashnikov has supplanted the bow and arrow… It appears Satan has ousted Cupid…” (Martin R Jackson)

Love is what I'm arming my son's with to go out in an angry and hurting world. This is the truest gift I can give them-an arrow to load in their bow and a solid Bullseye to aim at. It's a posture to live from, to love from. The power to decide ahead of time how they will show up for the neighbor nobody likes and how they respond to the bully on the playground or to the violence and uncertainty this world is going to ambush them with.

I have never advocated war except as means of peace, so seek peace, but prepare for war. Because war... War never changes. War is like winter and winter is coming. Coming like a mysterious adventurer. I used to be an adventurer until I took an arrow to the knee. A knee that will not bend, like Leonidas at Thermopylae.

If your work’s not urgent, you take it slow; if urgent, you are always on the go. If your jog is to stay fit, you run slow; if to win race, you dart like an arrow. The height of your goal dictates your motion: “Low goals—slow motion; high goals—fast motion.” Hence, when life is slow, you know where to go: “Either goals are low, or high but you’re slow.

Life is just like an arrow.. To launch it, we have to stretch it back.

When you shoot the arrows straight from your heart, it is bound to reach its target with a bull's eye and leave everlasting imprints ; raw and deep....

And to say that the citizens of those rival domains did not always see eye to eye was a bit of an understatement, because each represented the antithesis of the other’s deepest values. To the engineers and the technicians who belonged to the world of the dam, Glen was no dead monolith but, rather, a living and breathing thing, a creature that pulsed with energy and dynamism. Perhaps even more important, the dam was also a triumphant capstone of human ingenuity, the culmination of a civil-engineering lineage that had seen its first florescence in the irrigation canals of ancient Mesopotamia and China, then shot like a bold arrow through the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, and the Industrial Revolution to reach its zenith here in the sun-scorched wastelands of the American Southwest. Glen embodied the glittering inspiration and the tenacious drive of the American century—a spirit that in other contexts had been responsible for harnessing the atom and putting men on the moon. As impressive as those other accomplishments may have been, nothing excelled the nobility of transforming one of the harshest deserts on earth into a vibrant garden. In the minds of its engineers and its managers, Glen affirmed everything that was right about America. To Kenton Grua and the river folk who inhabited the world of the canyon, however, the dam was an offense against nature. Thanks to Glen and a host of similar Reclamation projects along the Colorado, one of the greatest rivers in the West, had been reduced to little more than a giant plumbing system, a network of pipes and faucets and catchment tubs whose chief purpose lay in the dubious goal of bringing golf courses to Phoenix, swimming pools to Tucson, and air-conditioned shopping malls to Vegas. A magnificent waterway had been sacrificed on the altar of a technology that enabled people to prosper without limits, without balance, without any connection to the environment in which they lived—and in the process, fostered the delusion that the desert had been conquered. But in the eyes of the river folk, even that wasn’t the real cost. To

At the office in the morning, Marianne drew an arrow-pierced heart, inscribed “A + M” and accompanied by a greeting to her sleeping boyfriend: Yes, now your little wife is sitting at the office, plinking at the typewriter and thinking only of you. I love you more than anything on Earth, Venus, Jupiter, Mars, Saturn and all the worlds that don’t exist. Take a good stretch and go into the bathroom, in the pocket of your new suit there’s a little breakfast: buy fresh rolls, 1/3 of a litre of milk and something inspir- ing to put on the bread. Then wash your shirts until they’re snow white and hang them to dry in the sunshine. Then you can do whatever you like, as long as you don’t forget me for a single moment all day. I’ll call you at 12:30 (or 1).

I could have traveled the remainder of my eternally bound life not seeking a true and living God. Many times, He was trying to speak to me, Ignorantly avoided influences like church, praying, reading the Holy Bible. Lost in the jailhouse of sin's deep darkness, with no care in the world to allow Jesus to direct my decisions. I wanted to lead the helm of my life the way I thought was best. Choosing our selfish ways is like shooting an arrow at a target fully missing the center of the bulls-eye. Doing what pleases me, me, me, leads us astray. Since sin is in us, we think sins are normal when they are the exact opposite. Only Jesus can change our inward nature to fulfill the center of His will.

After a few days of playing with the blindfolded archery, he was asking me, ‘what is going on? Do you understand what I said?’ I said, ‘yes swamiji, I am trying to understand’. He put his hand on my head and asked me to do the same: aiming at the goal with my eyes tied and his hand on my head - initiation, anupaya! When I sent the arrow, by the time the arrow hit the exact point, my focus hit the oneness!

Now Jesus was not a Roman citizen. He was not protected by the normal guarantees of citizenship—that quiet sense of security which comes from knowing that you belong and the general climate of confidence which it inspires. If a Roman soldier pushed Jesus into a ditch, he could not appeal to Caesar; he would be just another Jew in the ditch. Standing always beyond the reach of citizen security, he was perpetually exposed to all the “arrows of outrageous fortune,” and there was only a gratuitous refuge—if any—within the state. What stark insecurity!

want your arrow to strike the target, you must become the target. In other words, if I believe that a certain goal will bring me peace and calm, then to achieve that goal I must embody peace and calm.

Now it my time to thanks God openly with my rough life journey if I didnt go through in it I wouldnt speak with you here, reach things that I have right now and become person that I am when I compare my life before and after it improved a lot and I'm so greatful it make me agree that there were no mistakes on passing on those situations the thing I like the most is the person I became. Now I can boost,motivate you on your own journey I'm a best person to tell you bolde now that in patient there's success by trust and believe in God you never loose and it your arrow & sheild.

Now Jesus was not a Roman citizen. He was not protected by the normal guarantees of citizenship—that quiet sense of security which comes from knowing that you belong and the general climate of confidence which it inspires. If a Roman soldier pushed Jesus into a ditch, he could not appeal to Caesar; he would be just another Jew in the ditch. Standing always beyond the reach of citizen security, he was perpetually exposed to all the “arrows of outrageous fortune,” and there was only a gratuitous refuge—if any—within the state. What stark insecurity! What a breeder of complete civil and moral nihilism and psychic anarchy! Unless one actually lives day by day without a sense of security, he cannot understand what worlds separated Jesus from Paul at this point.

Classification and then reduction, the mind’s strongest weapon against conscience, if it wants to relieve your conscience to kill innocents, it would classify them within a group and include with them those who deserve death in its view, then reduce all the small details into generalities, and ignore them. As it will not fail a trick, to make the killing of children and women an inevitable necessity, towards a higher goal and a better world. Thus began the story of Baibars himself, nearly twenty years ago, when the extremist organization decided to classify the entire American people as one group, ignoring that the number of Muslims killed by Muslims themselves was many times greater than those killed because of American policies in the Middle East, and then decided that the destruction of their opponents in the Middle East. The destruction of the World Trade Center in Manhattan. Their minds reduced all the details; a child playing in his father’s office, a girl waiting for her mother’s return, a wife on the plane eager to meet her husband, their conscience did not hesitate for a moment to kill thousands of innocent people, for the sake of their ultimate goal. And so did America itself, when it decided to avenge its murderers, categorized, reduced, and shot everyone. Its pilots saw neither the children nor the families in the homes they were about to demolish over their heads. So did Hitler, Napoleon, Hulagu, and every serial killer known to mankind. It makes you like a pilot driving a plane, throwing a bomb over the houses, not seeing the trace of what it did on the ground, and if he carried it with his hand and walked in the streets, and watched the children, women, the innocent, who would fall dead from this bomb, he would not detonate it, but he only sees houses that look like matchboxes from the sky, general picture, no details. Satan’s most powerful weapon for controlling the mind, or the most powerful weapon of the mind to control us, and at some point, it masters it, to the point where it no longer needs to justify, reduce, or categorize anything, kill your opponents, and all their offspring, destroy them, burn them, leave none of them. Since many minds are tools in the hands of Satan, it can manipulate them as it wants. Since its working mechanisms have become known to him, Baibars decided, why not? Why do not we make them tools for good. He used Satan’s own style, manipulated everyone, and at times, reduced, but according to his laws, do not reduce the innocent. He is not afraid, he made his decision in the war, and whoever made this decision must bear the consequences of it. He wished time would go back a thousand or two thousand years and freeze there, where the wars between human beings were fought with swords and arrows, at that time, not many innocents fell, only soldiers who made their decision in advance to war, to kill, knowing that they might die. Everyone had the time and the ability to think, make decisions, and even escape. While today, most of the victims of wars do not make a decision, they pay with their lives without anyone asking them if they want to be part of this war at all. Cities are bombed and destroyed over the heads of their inhabitants, and most of them reject this war from the beginning. When someone detonates a bomb in a mall, he does not ask the victims of his bombing about their political stances, their religion, and even if they want to be part of this war, and so do the planes, they do not ask, and their victims have no opportunity to make a decision. As for him, Baibars, he made up his mind It is to fight in defense of those who did not have the opportunity to take it.

It was not difficult for an intelligent physicist to understand what was behind his gazes. The longer we sit, the more he looks at my smallest detail, he keeps looking at my lips, my neck, and my shoulders, with a gaze full of passion. Shy but still a female, who will not fail to feel a man’s desires toward her which is one of her most important strengths that was inherited from her ancestors. She looks away, but still sees her surroundings with a wider panoramic view than a man does. her sensors pick up risks, feelings, and repressed desires, many times as much as he can. It is enough for her to stand in front of the wardrobe and without moving her head or her eyes, she sees all its contents, she finds what she wants in a second, while a man has to move his eyes, head, and probably most of his organs and all of his senses to find what he is looking for, and often fails. Thus, our mind has developed these physical abilities, over thousands of years, as needed. The man’s need was to focus on his arrow and his prey, and his foresight has evolved, it has become more focused, while the woman’s need is to protect the home and children from dangers, her panoramic view has evolved to see her surroundings more broadly than the man’s. So, our mind programmed itself, and in this way, it developed our abilities. What it does not need, it leaves or neglects until this thing withers and dies, but what it thinks is important or needed, it keeps, strengthens it. Necessity is the key to evolution. Even athletes are well aware of this: in the body-building halls, they gradually lift weights, to force their brains to feed and build muscles. And as long as they’re still in pain to lift a weight, their brains realize they need more muscle power, so they can handle that weight without danger, and the brain starts to protein the muscles, thereby strengthening them and increasing their size. If it didn’t find enough protein in the diet, it creates it. As the muscles became stronger, and the weight on the trainee became easier to carry, he increased it, and the brain began to strengthen the muscles more to handle the new weight. If the muscle ceases to gain weight, it freezes at enough force and size to carry the current weight. The principle of negligence and usage; what has a need remains, and what has no need perishes. But Mousa’ need recently while going to the bodybuilding gym is not to stimulate the mind to meet his muscular needs. Rather, his causes are more profound, dangerous, and insane… But whom of us would need this?

By virtue of his dominance over nature, man can also combine souls, and engraft the essence of one upon another. Thus he inspires that which his hands have worked on, and equips his implements with qualities calculated to render them useful in their calling. When be fastens a bunch of feathers to his arrow, he gives its flight the accuracy of a bird, perhaps also something of a bird's force in swooping on its prey; as surely as he gives himself a touch of birdnature by fastening feathers about his body. Or he may, in the strength of his artistic faculty, content himself with a presentment of nature. He chisels a serpent on his sword, lays “a blood-painted worm along the edge” so that it “winds its tail about the neck of the sword”, and then lets the sword “bite”. Or be may use another form of art, he can “sing” a certain nature into his weapon. He tempers it in the fire, forges it with art and craft, whets it, ornaments it, and “lays on it the word” that it shall be a serpent to bite, a fire to eat its way. So also he builds his ship with the experience of a shipbuilder, paints it, sets perhaps a beast at the prow, and commands that it shall tread sure-footed as a horse upon the water. Naturally, the mere words are not enough, if there is no luck in them; they take effect only if the speaker can make them whole. How he contrives to accomplish this is a question too deep to enter into here, but as we learn to know him, we may perhaps seize upon one little secret after another.

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness; For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable. -1923

Arrows and Apologies is a dark, contemporary romance inspired by the Apollo and Daphne myth.

I inhaled his freedom like the pages of a never-ending book, the prose of his life holding me together when the power became too much.

When on the battlefield, the best arrow is prayer, and the best shield is faith.

The more you ask, the more you get, but it takes practice to get good at it. success is a numbers game. As the Buddhist sages observed, “Every arrow that hits the bull’s eye is the result of one hundred misses.” Flex your “asking muscles” by asking for a better table at your favorite restaurant, for a free second scoop at your local ice cream shop or for a complimentary upgrade on your next airline flight. you might be surprised at the abundance that will flow into your life when you just ask sincerely for the things you want.

You cannot lose or choose to forget someone you loved Without first losing or denying a vital part of yourself We are all pieces of the same puzzle Connected by threads of love Each a mirror to what we hold onto And what we let go of

I Hope You Win I hope you win I hope you find your deepest desire In the whispers of your heart's happiest song I hope you get to feel the warmth of the sun As it shines light upon all your night time wishes I hope the love you seek is what you find when you search your own soul I hope that you love yourself as much as I love you I hope the stars keep your dreams alive Bursting with colour and beaming through moon-lit skies And lastly I hope that what I hope for you You find in your heart to hope for me too I hope you win

Hate is a lazy-ass slob, wallowing in self-righteousness and fed by self-doubt and fear. Firing slings and arrows at difference, reason and knowledge, swelling with intolerance, spite, venom, and rage.

It is far easier to hate than to educate oneself. Hate is a lazy-ass slob, wallowing in self-righteousness and fed by self-doubt and fear. Firing slings and arrows at difference, reason and knowledge, swelling with intolerance, spite, venom, and rage.

A Shield for An Arrow, A Proof for a Gun, But Love Conquers Them All.

Tomorrow", said Peter when they reached the gate. "Same time. We'll meet here. No need for the yard." "You'll... you'll take me?" exclaimed Ardwin. "You'll take me as you student? Why? I was terrible!" "Yes, you were. But you have perseverance, Prince Ardwin. You kept at it despite your lack of success. What's more, you made no complaint against the wind, and you damaged no arrows. When you failed, you made no moan. Bran broke a bow over his knee when he began, so frustrated did he become.

One of the books that has had the most influence on me is a little manual called Rhinoceros Success by Scott Alexander. I know, it’s a weird title, but give it a read. I read it first when I was 12 years old and I still read it once a year to this day. It teaches you in life to be like a rhino - to have a single purpose, to charge at obstacles and goals with total commitment and to develop a thick skin to deal with the slings and arrows that try to slow you down. Still to this day, Shara loves to buy me things for my birthday with a rhino on. Lampshades, slippers, cushions, door knobs…you name it. In fact, it’s become a bit of a family joke to get me the most obscure rhino trinket they can find. But it means that at home wherever I look I am reminded of the simple (and fun!) truths of the book. They are all daily reminders to me to be a rhino in life. So find a way, whatever way works for you, of making motivation part of your daily life. Write notes to yourself on your bathroom mirror, keep a book that inspires you next to the loo, and feed your mind with the good whenever you can. If you do this every day, it’ll soon become a habit. A good habit. One that empowers you every day to climb high, aim big, and have fun along the way.

This vein of poetry they call Awen, which in their language signifies as much as Raptus, or a poetic furore; and in truth as many of them as I have conversed with are, as I may say, gifted or inspired with it. I was told by a very sober and knowing person (now dead) that in his time there was a young lad fatherless and motherless, and so very poor that he was forced to beg; but at last was taken up by a rich man that kept a great stock of sheep upon the mountains not far off from the place where I now dwell, who clothed him and sent him into the mountains to keep his sheep. There in summer time, following the sheep and looking to their lambs, he fell into a deep sleep, in which he dreamed that he saw a beautiful young man with a garland of green leaves upon his head and a hawk upon his fist, with a quiver full of arrows at his back, coming towards him (whistling several measures or tunes all the way) and at last let the hawk fly at him, which he dreamed got into his mouth and inward parts, and suddenly awaked in a great fear and consternation, but possessed with such a vein, or gift of poetry, that he left the sheep and went about the Country, making songs upon all occasions, and came to be the most famous Bard in all the Country in his time.

Stillness is what aims the archer’s arrow. It inspires new ideas. It sharpens perspective and illuminates connections. It slows the ball down so that we might hit it. It generates a vision, helps us resist the passions of the mob, makes space for gratitude and wonder. Stillness allows us to persevere. To succeed. It is the key that unlocks the insights of genius, and allows us regular folks to understand them.