Carnival Costumes Quotes

cause we don't hide, We parade our pride!

During the Mardi Gras carnival in New Orleans, drunk and drugged and sleepless for sex-driven nights and days, I saw leering clowns on gaudy floats tossing cheap necklaces to grasping hands that clutched and grabbed and tore them, spilling beads; and revelers crawled on littered streets, wrestling for them, bleeding for them on sidewalks; and beads fell on spattered blood like dirty tears—and I saw costumed revelers turn into angels, angels into demons, demons into clowning angels; and in a flashing moment the night split open into a deeper, darker chasm out of which soared demonic clowning angels laughing.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, all the fashionable world at Nice may be seen on the Promenade des Anglais—a charming place, for the wide walk, bordered with palms, flowers, and tropical shrubs, is bounded on one side by the sea, on the other by the grand drive, lined with hotels and villas, while beyond lie orange orchards and the hills. Many nations are represented, many languages spoken, many costumes worn, and on a sunny day the spectacle is as gay and brilliant as a carnival. Haughty English, lively French, sober Germans, handsome Spaniards, ugly Russians, meek Jews, free-and-easy Americans, all drive, sit, or saunter here, chatting over the news, and criticizing the latest celebrity who has arrived—Ristori or Dickens, Victor Emmanuel or the Queen of the Sandwich Islands.

began to walk home, very quickly. A car full of high-school girls screeched around the corner. They were the girls who ran all the clubs and won all the elections in Allison’s high-school class: little Lisa Leavitt; Pam McCormick, with her dark ponytail, and Ginger Herbert, who had won the Beauty Revue; Sissy Arnold, who wasn’t as pretty as the rest of them but just as popular. Their faces—like movie starlets’, universally worshiped in the lower grades—smiled from practically every page of the yearbook. There they were, triumphant, on the yellowed, floodlit turf of the football field—in cheerleader uniform, in majorette spangles, gloved and gowned for homecoming; convulsed with laughter on a carnival ride (Favorites) or tumbling elated in the back of a September haywagon (Sweethearts)—and despite the range of costume, athletic to casual to formal wear, they were like dolls whose smiles and hair-dos never changed.

I have seen, there, In the moonlit space of self, where the ego glides, Its silvery essence, a mirror upon life’s tides. Shaped by the ebb and flow of journey’s dance, Reflecting beliefs, in life’s intricate, ever-changing stance. This luminary, a learned guide in identity’s play, Casts shadows, illusions in its luminous display. A sculptor, artful, in societal norms it trusts, Chiseling character with life’s whims and cultural dust. The ego, in its carnival, spins tales so keen, Crafting who we ought to be in expectations unseen. In costumes of roles and societal dreams it dresses, Creating our outward selves in myriad, intricate presses. In stark contrast, behold the inner sun, our essence so bright, A steadfast flame, in the core of our being, burning with pure light. Unfiltered, unwavering, unlike the moon’s fickle gleam, A constant force, our authentic self, a deep, untouched stream. This essence, our unchanging truth, in the heart it resides, A whisper of eternity, beyond masks, where true self abides. Beyond roles, beyond transient ego’s elaborate dance, Lies this truth, unswayed by the external world’s fleeting glance. In the quest for self, twixt these luminaries, discernment is key, Traversing the self’s tangle, understanding what must be. Though ego’s voice echoes loud, in desires and fears it plays, It’s the essence’s silent light that guides through life’s stormy bays. Through recognition, understanding, transformation’s alchemy begins, Turning life unexamined into enlightened existence’s wins. A celestial voyage, within us, between sun and moon’s embrace, Ego teaches, grows us, in our worldly place. The essence, radiant and wise, to eternity connects, Offering authenticity, a path that perfects. Yin and yang, in our existence, they intertwine, In their dance, our soul’s rhythm, in harmony, divine. In moon’s reflection and sun’s light, a balance we find, Understanding their interplay, the rhythm of humankind.

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I was applying for a job position at a counseling center in another state. Mom had driven me there and she had the car parked in front of the building...Tribal people in mossy costumes came in randomly and picked random people...When I looked out of the cave-like opening to the floor below, I saw what looked like a hellish place. This place had a concrete floor, stone and rock walls, and a massive open area. People were laying on the ground and they all had something wrong with them. One guy had his face burned off, exposing his facial muscles, parts of his skull, and his bone nasal cavity. Some young five-year-old girl had no legs but a single wormlike leg with no foot from her waist down. She was playing with this guy who only had one eye on his head. These people reminded me of carnival shows from way back in history. It seemed like the psychologists were testing our fears and what we can handle. When I looked at the floor, the floor was now a blue carpet.