Dove Inspirational Quotes

When angels visit us, we do not hear the rustle of wings, nor feel the feathery touch of the breast of a dove; but we know their presence by the love they create in our hearts.

The hardest thing on earth is choosing what matters

A dove struggling in a storm grows stronger than an eagle soaring in sunshine.

Love is not a verb. Love is a noun. Love’s activity is people breathing, cells dividing, a dove taking a flight. This grammar of life not all can see.

Today I will find something beautiful. Delicate pink blossoms on a cherry tree. The dove resting near the lemon buds. Sunbeams smiling from sky to earth. Smiling on me. "Creating" in BREATHE IN

Great ideas, it has been said, come into the world as gently as doves. Perhaps then, if we listen attentively, we shall hear amid the uproar of empires and nations, a faint flutter of wings, the gentle stirring of life and hope. Some will say that this hope lies in a nation; others in a man. I believe rather that it is awakened, revived, nourished, by millions of solitary individuals whose and works every day negate frontiers and the crudest implications of history.

How can a falling dove turn again into a flying dove once again? It really takes the eyes of someone who sees you for the beauty that you really are. And if there are no other eyes there to see you in that way, then you had better be those pair of eyes, for yourself, to see yourself with!

And chiefly thou, O spirit, that dost prefer Before all temples the upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for thou know'st. Thou from the first Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread, Dove-like sattest brooding on the vast abyss, And madst it pregnant.

A heart with love flies like a dove in the sky of beauty and kindness.

I sang in order to feel the wasted horizon in the pain of a dove not to explain what God says to man I'm no prophet I don't proclaim that my fall is an ascent

Happiness lives in the tomorrow of now. Find it before today fades.

Dove va, una persona che dorme? Non va da nessuna parte. Rimane li. Come le chiavi quando sai dove le hai messe.

Riluci d'oro dove la vita ti ha scheggiato

But undying memories stood like sentinels in her breast. When the notes of doves, calling to each other, fell on her ear, her eyes sought the sky, and she heard a voice saying, "Majella!

Oz, does it scare you we've fallen in love so fast?" 
"No, my little dove." He kisses my head. "You are a witch, and I am a vampire, and we are doing what we do best: we feel. Our emotions help drive us. Never mind the humans who say you need to think with your head. Your intuition is the smartest thing you have, and your heart doesn't make a decision without consulting it first.

Words are big. They define who you are. They are permanent. I don’t think most people realize that. What you say is who you are. So try to be gentle on social media. Lift others up when you can, even if you don’t agree with what they have to say. Don’t always turn your words into weapons when you can just as easily make them doves.

Goddess Rising This is for the women Who have walked with hidden shame Stirring like all is well Though weighted down in pain. This is for her Inner Child Who longs to forget Her innocence stolen Body, soul and spirit rent into pieces- fragments-broken-bent This is for the Maiden Longing to belong -To another - In hopes to make right the darkened wrongs Not realizing-blinded by oozing wounds Her own innate delicious power Thick within her womb This is for the Mother Breaking eons of fettered chains For the children she has birthed Through blood and breaths of change She calls them Redemption Regardless of their names This is for the Crone Who called her shattered pieces Home To herself- To all her luminous bodies Where she never dared to feel Making strong her bones Crushing~ oppressors With the swaying of her hips Her hands soaring like doves Honey dripping from her lips This is for the Wild Woman Who traversed the Underground Leaving her footprints While taming the Hellhounds. Like a seed breaking fallow ground Emerging fruitful garden No longer bound By the nightmare of the past Awakened from the Dream- Of Separation SHE. IS.- merging realms between. This is for the woman, for the Goddess For me For you Rising from our ashes Making ALL things new~

A snake,” I replied, breath hitching. “I suppose . . . I’m a snake. A liar. A deceiver. Cursed to crawl on my belly and eat dust all the days of my life.” “Ah.” To my surprise, Claud’s face didn’t twist in disgust or revulsion. He nodded instead, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Yes, I would agree with that assessment.” Humiliation hung my head. “Right. Thanks.” “Louise.” A single finger lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. Those eyes, once warm, now blazed with intensity, with conviction. “What you are now is not what you’ve always been, nor is it what you always will be. You are a snake. Shed your skin if it no longer serves you. Transform into something different. Something better.

Era la presa di coscienza nauseante di essere sbarcato sul pianeta sbagliato. O nella famiglia sbagliata. O nel corpo sbagliato. La presa di coscienza di non avere altra scelta che temporeggiare fino a quando non fosse stato in grado di andarsene e costruirsi un piccolo mondo tutto suo, dove si sarebbe sentito al sicuro.

If any accolades come in the writing of this story, all praise will be His, all Glory will rightly go to Him. If He will allow me to share some part in this, I am truly humbled.

Avevo dimenticato di vivere la vita là dove andava vissuta

He was savoring for the first time the ineffable subtleties of feminine refinement. Never had he encountered this grace of language, this quiet taste in dress, these relaxed, dove like postures. He marveled at the sublimity of her soul and at the lace on her petticoat. With her ever-changing moods, by turns brooding and gay, chattering and silent, fiery and casual, she aroused in him a thousand desires, awakening instincts or memories. She was the amoureuse of all the novels, the heroine of all the plays, the vague "she" of all the poetry books.

Black and white come together. Brown and blue come to gather. Boys and girls come with love. Straight and gay come as a dove. Jewish and Muslim, open your mind. Christian and Hindu, be very kind. Sikh and Buddist come with the sun. All children, let's have some fun. We are your children; we are the future. Let us love and trust each other. Let not the gun, let not the shored, But let peace and love win this world.

True nobility must be earned, Dove replied. You can be born with the best blood nature has to offer, but without moral achievement, even the finest liquor of life is empty. Dove speaking to Kitten in Where Wolves Talk

When the silence comes and the echoes of former life fades, what will have mattered will be, one made the world a bit better ‘fore their de-berthing. Writing, needs none, but the initial push of heart and passion, enabling the story to take flight, doves to clouds, clouds to doves, then to faithfully follow its unfolding through the quill transcribed, this self-perpetuating engine once born, with no further fuel required, to lift others in the journey, through time, for all time.

Le passioni umane sono una cosa molto misteriosa e per i bambini le cose non stanno diversamente che per i grandi. Coloro che ne vengono colpiti non le sanno spiegare, e coloro che non hanno mai provato nulla di simile non le possono comprendere. Ci sono persone che mettono in gioco la loro esistenza per raggiungere la vetta di una montagna. A nessuno, neppure a se stessi, potrebbero realmente spiegare perché lo fanno. Altri si rovinano per conquistare il cuore di una persona che non ne vuole sapere di loro. E altri ancora vanno in rovina perché non sanno resistere ai piaceri della gola, o a quelli della bottiglia. Alcuni buttano tutti i loro beni nel gioco, oppure sacrificano ogni cosa per un’idea fissa, che mai potrà diventare realtà. Altri credono di poter essere felici soltanto in un luogo diverso da quello dove si trovano e così passano la vita girando il mondo. E altri ancora non trovano pace fino a quando non hanno ottenuto il potere. Insomma, ci sono tante e diverse passioni, quante e diverse sono le persone. Per Bastiano Baldassare Bucci la passione erano i libri.

The pale morning sun filters through the forest canopy around us. I imagine my dewy rosebush soaking it up, photosynthesizing like crazy. The coo of a mourning dove echoes, somehow soothing my heart. Sometimes I feel so entangled with the West Virginia seasons, it's like I'm breathing through them.

On A Cold Day, Of A Cool Walking The day is cold, and the clouds are gray. The grass is white with frost, and may I say? The sun is coming up, over the hill. It's so quiet, and so still. In the midst of all the trees, by the broke I see. Something moving in the bush; what could it be? The frost falls from the dead leaves, as he hops about in the breeze. It's a bunny, all bundled up with fur, so he will not freeze. Life keeps on going, even when we think not. Where are you going, and what is your lot? Looking for God's Love, from up above? Jesus will fly to you, like a dove. He is there; just start talking. On a cold day, of a cool walking.

Son dovuto passare attraverso tanta sciocchezza, tanta bruttura, tanto errore, tanto disgusto e delusione e dolore, solo per ridiventare bambino e poter ricominciare da capo. Ma è stato giusto, il mio cuore lo approva, gli occhi miei ne ridono. Ho dovuto provare la disperazione, ho dovuto abbassarmi fino al più stolto di tutti i pensieri, al pensiero del suicidio, per poter rivivere la grazia, per riapprendere l'Om, per poter di nuovo dormire tranquillo e risvegliarmi sereno. Ho dovuto essere un pazzo, per sentire di nuovo l'Atman. Ho dovuto peccare per poter rivivere. Dove può ancora condurmi il mio cammino? Stolto è questo cammino, va strisciando obliquamente, forse va in cerchio. Ma vada come vuole, io son contento di seguirlo.

When the silence comes and the echoes of former life fades, what will have mattered will be, one made the world a bit better ‘fore their de-berthing. Writing, needs none, but the initial push of heart and passion, enabling the story to take flight, doves to clouds, clouds to doves, then to faithfully follow its unfolding through the quill transcribed, this self-perpetuating engine once born, with no further fuel required, to lift others in the journey, through time, for all time.

At the end of the week, when we sat down to dinner, all eyes went to the trays on the table, where browned-to-perfection mini corn dogs cuddled up against a variety of dipping sauces. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” A lineman wiped a tear from his eye. “It’s like Christmas,” I said, all choked up. “I love you, Coach.” The quarterback’s bottom lip quivered. We dove into the pile of savory sausages, watched NFL football, and forgot our aches, pains, and camp struggles.

Three miles from my adopted city lies a village where I came to peace. The world there was a calm place, even the great Danube no more than a pale ribbon tossed onto the landscape by a girl’s careless hand. Into this stillness I had been ordered to recover. The hills were gold with late summer; my rooms were two, plus a small kitchen, situated upstairs in the back of a cottage at the end of the Herrengasse. From my window I could see onto the courtyard where a linden tree twined skyward — leafy umbilicus canted toward light, warped in the very act of yearning — and I would feed on the sun as if that alone would dismantle the silence around me. At first I raged. Then music raged in me, rising so swiftly I could not write quickly enough to ease the roiling. I would stop to light a lamp, and whatever I’d missed — larks flying to nest, church bells, the shepherd’s home-toward-evening song — rushed in, and I would rage again. I am by nature a conflagration; I would rather leap than sit and be looked at. So when my proud city spread her gypsy skirts, I reentered, burning towards her greater, constant light. Call me rough, ill-tempered, slovenly— I tell you, every tenderness I have ever known has been nothing but thwarted violence, an ache so permanent and deep, the lightest touch awakens it. . . . It is impossible to care enough. I have returned with a second Symphony and 15 Piano Variations which I’ve named Prometheus, after the rogue Titan, the half-a-god who knew the worst sin is to take what cannot be given back. I smile and bow, and the world is loud. And though I dare not lean in to shout Can’t you see that I’m deaf? — I also cannot stop listening.

To accomplish great things one must not only act, but dream.

E tu, amico viaggiatore, dove desideri andare per cominciare?

Dirigiti verso il continente la cui musica ti chiama, la cui cultura ti ispira e fermati nel paese dove ti sentirai a casa. Ritorna due volte, dieci volte nel tuo paese d'adozione. Forse ci andrai a vivere? Non ti imporre dei limiti, lascia aperte tutte le porte. Parti come un bimbo incantato e lascia che il viaggio ti porti per mano: il primo sconosciuto da scoprire sei tu stesso! Approfitta del viaggio per perdere colui o colei che pensi di essere. Dimentica quello che hai imparato, diffida delle tue certezze, molla gli ormeggi, lasciati sorprendere! Parti nudo, osa fare il mendicante: il viaggio ti offrirà abiti nuovi. Rivelerà in te ricchezze che neanche sospettavi. Tornerai senza un soldo, ma sarai ricchissimo.

«Questi due individui,» comincio a spiegargli, «vivono sotto una machera, ma non l’hanno creata loro. Hanno entrambi una visione limitata. È pesante e annebbiata. A volte è come se stessero per affogare a causa dell’onda. Comunque, c’è molto altro oltre. È una questione di prospettiva.» «E il punto in cui le loro mani s’incontrano?» chiede, senza guardarmi. «Che cosa è?» «È tutt’altro. È il modo in cui riescono davvero a trovarsi. È la forza di cui hanno bisogno per scacciare la falsità, l’onda.» «Ha un nome?» «Non ufficialmente, ma nasce dal loro amore. Distrugge tutto il resto. Attraversa le barriere, permettendogli di essere liberi come individui e come coppia.» Foster mi stringe la mano. Si abbassa e mi bacia una guancia. Immagino il calore che cresce dove i nostri corpi si uniscono, espandendosi tra di noi mentre tutto il resto scompare. «Ed è così che ci vedi?» mi sussurra. «Sì.» Annuisco. «Nessuno di noi è l’acqua. Tu non lo sei, e nemmeno io. Siamo più dell’acqua.»

Pay close attention to the birds that perch on your balconies, windows, and doorsteps. Pay attention to the birds that fly past your eyes and over your heads. Pay attention to the birds that are paying attention to you. They are all bringing you messages -- so pay extra attention. If a dove should fall on your path, say AMEN. If a lone eagle should fly above your head, say THANK YOU. If you see a vulture, PRAY. If you see an owl, WRITE. And if you see a crow, ask yourself WHY. The little birds bring positive messages from the deceased and can be viewed as little angels. The larger birds act as guides and bring larger messages from the divine.

Black dove, white dove Both so elegant and alike Both symbolize peace,and love Only difference is colour Colour does not differentiate anything, they will still remain birds They both sore so high in the sky The same direction,the same path You would rather look at the black dove because of it’s colour They both are birds, just different colours Colour, is just a word Yet a word that separates things so precious and make them seem so different Look beyond the colour, Tell me what you see, A Creation is what it will always be

Per me l'atto di pensare e quello di esprimere i pensieri non sono simultanei, e neppure necessariamente consecutivi. So di pensare e parlare nella stessa lingua, e so che in teoria non c’è ragione per cui io non possa comunicare i miei pensieri non appena si formano o immediatamente dopo; eppure la lingua in cui io penso e quella in cui parlo sembrano spesso talmente lontane che mi pare impossibile colmare il vuoto sul momento, o anche retroattivamente. Mi ha sempre affascinato l’idea della traduzione simultanea, come alle Nazioni Unite, dove nel pubblico tutti hanno gli auricolari e si sa che nelle retrovie gli interpreti ascoltano quello che viene detto e lo trasformano in un’altra lingua. Capisco che questo sia possibile, ma per me ha del miracoloso – che le parole siano lanciate in aria in una lingua e ricadano a terra in un’altra come una palla. Credo che nel mio cervello ci sia una specie di setaccio che impedisce un rapido (e tanto meno simultaneo) travaso dei pensieri in parole. Un po’ come il filtro nello scarico della vasca da bagno; c’è qualcosa che mantiene i miei pensieri nel cervello, e così bisogna cavarli a forza, come quegli schifosi grovigli di capelli bagnati. Riflettevo sui concetti di pensiero e di linguaggio, a quanto sarebbe stato difficile esprimerli – o quantomeno spossante, come se pensarli fosse già abbastanza e dirli fosse pleonastico o riduttivo, perché lo sanno tutti che la traduzione svilisce un testo, è sempre meglio leggere un libro nella lingua originale (À la recherche du temps perdu). Le traduzioni sono delle approssimazioni soggettive e questo è esattamente quello che provo quando parlo: quello che dico non è quello che penso ma solo quello che più gli si avvicina, con tutti i limiti e le imperfezioni del linguaggio. Quindi penso spesso che sia meglio stare zitto anziché esprimermi in modo inesatto.

In the garden of humanity there are tigers and lion, deer and doves. Deer and doves live carefully but with beauty and joy.

Are you the dove or the statue? Soaring with the eagles leaving the turkeys behind. May our highest Supreme Being be with you and give you lots of Real Love and Happiness in your life.

Maggie Dove wanted to be a beacon of light. She dreamed of being the sort of person who made others laugh, calmed crying babies, soothed wild dogs, inspired hopefulness.

È difficile comprendere da dove provenga quest'orgoglio dei poeti, se sovente si vergognano che appaia la loro debolezza.

On A Cold Day, Of A Cold Walking The day is cold, but clouds are gray. The grass is white with frost, and may I say? The sun is coming up, over the hill. It's so quiet, and so steal. In the midst of all the trees, by the broke I see. Something moving in the bush; what could it be? The frost falls from the dead leaves, as he hops about in the breeze. It's a bunny, all bundled up with fur, so he will not freeze. Life keeps on going, even when we think not. Where are you going, and what is your lot? Looking for God's Love, from up above? Jesus will fly to you, like a dove. He is there; just start talking. On a cold day, of I called walking.

On A Cold Day, Of A Cool Walking The day is cold, and clouds are gray. The grass is white with frost, and may I say? The sun is coming up, over the hill. It's so quiet, and so steal. In the midst of all the trees, by the broke I see. Something moving in the bush; what could it be? The frost falls from the dead leaves, as he hops about in the breeze. It's a bunny, all bundled up with fur, so he will not freeze. Life keeps on going, even when we think not. Where are you going, and what is your lot? Looking for God's Love, from up above? Jesus will fly to you, like a dove. He is there; just start talking. On a cold day, of a cool walking.

Rien dove into her own extinguished eyes, surrounded by two wrinkle stripes , engraved to serve as defense moats, should anyone plot to snick in through the windows of her soul".

This is a wake up call. Don’t press the snooze alarm. The barbarians are at the gates, and, because they encourage breeding beyond the ability of the breeders to house, feed, and educate the breedees, violence and social disorganization continue. As the most Christian nation on earth watches its civilization dissolve like a Dove bar fallen off of that ark, attempts to enforce irrational superstitious solutions will accelerate. That Branch Davidian thing was a sample. Lots of other messiahs are waiting. Maybe we can have court-ordered Branch Davidian Social Services counseling for people who won’t share their wives with their god’s anointed. Maybe courts can acquit murderers if they believe a god’s finger was on their trigger. Maybe the barbarians will actually succeed in assuring that books, pictures, ideas, doctors, judges and military commanders share their vision. Then we will have a lot of interesting tribal warfare. One useful defense will be humanistic hermeneutics. Hermeneutics is a fancy word for biblical interpretation. When religious types want to make something simple sound holy and mysterious, they often give it an important sounding high falutin’ name. This practice contrasts sharply with the usage of secular humanists, who, in explaining their views, employ simple words, that fall trippingly from the tongue, like ‘eupraxophy.’ Hermeneutics can be an important weapon to use against religious fanatics in the coming ARCW. The hard core nut cases—those who would control every aspect of our lives by forcing us to accept their understanding of the will of their god—tend to share certain operational assumptions. These include the belief that: (1) Every word of the Bible is true. (2) The English translation of the Bible authorized by King James the First of England, completed in 1611, Common Era, is the only fully acceptable, authoritative, and inspired-by-god translation of holy scripture. This translation is accurate in every respect, including punctuation marks. (3) The Bible is the basis of all morality. Without it there can be no morality. (4) The United States of America was established, and should be governed, according to biblical principles. (5) The Bible is without error. (6) No part of the Bible is in conflict with, or contradictory to, any other part. (7) Hermeneutics can be used to clarify and explain those truths of god in the Bible that might appear, to finite minds, to be in conflict. The goal of hermeneutics is to reconcile all portions of the ‘Word of God’ (the Bible) into a seamless, complete, infallible, and final statement of all past and future history (the latter is called prophecy), of divine law, and of how humans should behave and understand morality. The Bible, properly interpreted, is the final word on everything.

You don’t need the Canadian fjords, the Grand Canyon, a newborn baby, although these can be helpful. You don’t need to go to Senegal. Immediacy and inspiration can be found in the dairy aisle at Safeway. It probably looks like people saying hello, making eye contact, letting others go first. Ordinary human daily ways, but moving more slowly. It looks like me with a few free minutes, deciding not to fill something in. Instead, I may close my eyes, drop to a quieter plane, or look up into a tree or the sky. Even a moment’s transcendence changes us. Everything is different afterward because we deep-dove, were there in downward, inward, higher places. So we know now. We remember.

I identify with the emotions and feelings of Richard Dove Williams Jr. (Tennis Coach & Father of Serena and Venus Williams). I want my Trainees and Students to become World Champions.

Avevo camminato tra i cadaveri dove non c'era posto per appoggiare i piedi mentre piangevo l'anima, disperata. Continuavo a camminare barcollando, senza neanche asciugare le lacrime che fluivano lungo il mio viso e il mio cuore si era fatto duro quanto caldo era il sole che seccava quel pianto.

From chaos see how beauty springs: The dove above the water sings.

The good, the bad... forever.

Salat Most gracious Lord, Master, Messiah, and Savior of humanity, We greet Thee with all humility. Thou art the First Cause and the Last Effect, the Divine Light and the Spirit of Guidance, Alpha and Omega. Thy Light is in all forms, Thy Love in all beings: in a loving mother, in a kind father, in an innocent child, in a helpful friend, in an inspiring teacher. Allow us to recognize Thee in all Thy holy names and forms: as Rama, as Krishna, as Shiva, as Buddha. Let us know Thee as Abraham, as Solomon, as Zarathustra, as Moses, as Jesus, as Muhammad, and in many other names and forms, known and unknown to the world. We adore Thy past; Thy presence deeply enlighteneth our being, and we look for Thy blessing in the future. O Messenger, Christ, Nabi, the Rasul of God! Thou Whose heart constantly reacheth upward, Thou comest on earth with a message, as a dove from above when Dharma decayeth, and speakest the Word that is put into Thy mouth, as the light filleth the crescent moon. Let the star of the Divine Light shining in Thy heart be reflected in the hearts of Thy devotees. May the Message of God reach far and wide, illuminating and making the whole humanity as one single Brotherhood in the Fatherhood of God. Amen.

Love by Maisie Aletha Smikle Love is like a dove Descending from above Pure generous and genuine Kind gentle patient and divine Love knows no bounds As it abounds Love must be coupled with self control Less it rolls out of control Love is good and can never be bad Unless you love what isn't good Lovers of the good Have withstood Trials and tests For love must persist To conquer hate And not abate or dissipate Love is kind And not unkind Love is not blind Love looks intuitively deep to find its kind Love sees beyond the exterior Love examines the interior Love sees beyond pimples Blemishes faults and wrinkles Love is good Love is not bad Love hates evil Evil hates love Love and evil do not go hand in hand Love good abstain from evil and do no wrong Only love will stand the test of time Patiently persevere kind and always on time

She is calm like a dove, yet her mind is sharp like a blade. She lives in peace and she is full of wisdom. She is truly a powerful woman.

He is confident in what he does, because he has confidence in what God has laid in his heart. Yes, he may be as gentle as a dove, but he knows he has been ordained with power from Above.

Estoy seguro de que piensas que ojalá lo hubieras hecho. Pero el día de ayer se ha ido río abajo y no puedes recuperarlo.

What is the fire of inspiration that resides within, if not something to follow along a path?