Eden Rock Quotes

I believe that we, that this planet, hasn't seen its Golden Age. Everybody says its finished ... art's finished, rock and roll is dead, God is dead. Fuck that! This is my chance in the world. I didn't live back there in Mesopotamia, I wasn't there in the Garden of Eden, I wasn't there with Emperor Han, I'm right here right now and I want now to be the Golden Age ...if only each generation would realise that the time for greatness is right now when they're alive ... the time to flower is now.

UNUSED LYRIC I’ve never been to Eden But it’s nice I hear tell When I die I’ll go to heaven ’Cause I’ve done my time in hell

The way you move is incredible.” Ren drew me back to press against him. His fingers slid down to the curve of my hips, rocking our bodies in rhythm with the heavy bass. The sensation of being molded against the hard narrow line of his hips threatened to overwhelm me. We were hidden in the mass of people, right? The Keepers couldn’t see? I tried to steady my breath as Ren kept us locked together in the excruciatingly slow pulse of the music. I closed my eyes and leaned back into his body; his fingers kneaded my hips, caressed my stomach. God, it felt good. My lips parted and the misty veil slipped between them, playing along my tongue. The taste of flower buds about to burst into bloom filled my mouth. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to melt into Ren. The surge of desire terrified me. I had no idea if the compulsion to draw him more tightly around my body emerged from my own heart or from the succubi’s spellcraft. This couldn’t happen! I started to panic when he bent his head, pressing his lips against my neck. My eyes fluttered and I struggled to focus despite the suffocating heat that pressed down all around me. His sharpened canines traced my skin, scratching but not breaking the surface. My body quaked and I pivoted in his arms, pushing against his chest, making space between us. “I’m a fighter, not a lover,” I gasped. “You can’t be both?” His smile made my knees buckle.

The only magic I ever really made was the love I had with you.

The Lake In spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less- So lovely was the loneliness Of a wild lake, with black rock bound, And the tall pines that towered around. But when the Night had thrown her pall Upon that spot, as upon all, And the mystic wind went by Murmuring in melody- Then-ah then I would awake To the terror of the lone lake. Yet that terror was not fright, But a tremulous delight- A feeling not the jewelled mine Could teach or bribe me to define- Nor Love-although the Love were thine. Death was in that poisonous wave, And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his lone imagining- Whose solitary soul could make An Eden of that dim lake.

In the first movement, our infancy as a species, we felt no separation from the natural world around us. Trees, rocks, and plants surrounded us with a living presence as intimate and pulsing as our own bodies. In that primal intimacy, which anthropologists call "participation mystique," we were as one with our world as a child in the mother's womb. Then self-consciousness arose and gave us distance on our world. We needed that distance in order to make decisions and strategies, in order to measure, judge and to monitor our judgments. With the emergence of free-will, the fall out of the Garden of Eden, the second movement began -- the lonely and heroic journey of the ego. Nowadays, yearning to reclaim a sense of wholeness, some of us tend to disparage that movement of separation from nature, but it brought us great gains for which we can be grateful. The distanced and observing eye brought us tools of science, and a priceless view of the vast, orderly intricacy of our world. The recognition of our individuality brought us trial by jury and the Bill of Rights. Now, harvesting these gains, we are ready to return. The third movement begins. Having gained distance and sophistication of perception, we can turn and recognize who we have been all along. Now it can dawn on us: we are our world knowing itself. We can relinquish our separateness. We can come home again -- and participate in our world in a richer, more responsible and poignantly beautiful way than before, in our infancy.

Okay. Let's go to the pool. I'll drop a rock in it and we'll see which one of you sinks faster " "I can rip your heart out of your chest, human" [...] "You already have, My Lady.

Una’s death struck Samuel like a silent earthquake. He said no brave and reassuring words, he simply sat alone and rocked himself.

Maybe when you love someone, neither one of you are supposed to be worthy of the other. Maybe that's what your'e supposed to do--spend you life earning that love. Maybe we're supposed to work at being worthy.

One morning spent in a rocking chair, and the world had shifted. Like going for a ride and veering off the main path to get a look from a different angle, and then discovering that the trail you’d been on was lacking in every way imaginable.

The rocks at the base of this sable cliff glowed silver as they caught the moonlight.

Yes, Troy, I’m tired. And do you want to know why?” She raised her brows, cocking her head on an angle to give him a full dose of attitude. “Cause I was riding Blake all night long.

THE LAKE IN youth's spring it was my lot To haunt of the wide earth a spot The which I could not love the less; So lovely was the loneliness Of a wild lake, with black rock bound, And the tall pines that tower'd around. But when the night had thrown her pall Upon that spot—as upon all, And the wind would pass me by In its stilly melody, My infant spirit would awake To the terror of the lone lake. Yet that terror was not fright— But a tremulous delight, And a feeling undefined, Springing from a darken'd mind. Death was in that poison'd wave And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his dark imagining; Whose wildering thought could even make An Eden of that dim lake.  

One morning spent in a rocking chair, and the world had shifted. Like going for a ride and veering off the main path to get a look from a different angle, and then discovering that the trail you’d been on was lacking in every way imaginable. I was in it with this woman. So fucking in it.

Sometimes, when I'm falling asleep, I think of breaking the latches on every lion and tiger cage in the world. Those cats streaming like fire and lightning into the night. Maybe, if we were forced to feel like prey again, like animals, we'd have a little more respect for the rest of the creatures we share this rock with.

The root of all sin goes back to the garden of Eden. The result of Adam and Eve’s disobedience was exile for them and all their descendants after them. Living in exile means living in a perpetual state of disconnection and separation that ultimately leads to death if not remedied. There are four aspects to exile: spiritual, emotional, relational, and physical.

The English word Atonement comes from the ancient Hebrew word kaphar, which means to cover. When Adam and Eve partook of the fruit and discovered their nakedness in the Garden of Eden, God sent Jesus to make coats of skins to cover them. Coats of skins don’t grow on trees. They had to be made from an animal, which meant an animal had to be killed. Perhaps that was the very first animal sacrifice. Because of that sacrifice, Adam and Eve were covered physically. In the same way, through Jesus’ sacrifice we are also covered emotionally and spiritually. When Adam and Eve left the garden, the only things they could take to remind them of Eden were the coats of skins. The one physical thing we take with us out of the temple to remind us of that heavenly place is a similar covering. The garment reminds us of our covenants, protects us, and even promotes modesty. However, it is also a powerful and personal symbol of the Atonement—a continuous reminder both night and day that because of Jesus’ sacrifice, we are covered. (I am indebted to Guinevere Woolstenhulme, a religion teacher at BYU, for insights about kaphar.) Jesus covers us (see Alma 7) when we feel worthless and inadequate. Christ referred to himself as “Alpha and Omega” (3 Nephi 9:18). Alpha and omega are the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet. Christ is surely the beginning and the end. Those who study statistics learn that the letter alpha is used to represent the level of significance in a research study. Jesus is also the one who gives value and significance to everything. Robert L. Millet writes, “In a world that offers flimsy and fleeting remedies for mortal despair, Jesus comes to us in our moments of need with a ‘more excellent hope’ (Ether 12:32)” (Grace Works, 62). Jesus covers us when we feel lost and discouraged. Christ referred to Himself as the “light” (3 Nephi 18:16). He doesn’t always clear the path, but He does illuminate it. Along with being the light, He also lightens our loads. “For my yoke is easy,” He said, “and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:30). He doesn’t always take burdens away from us, but He strengthens us for the task of carrying them and promises they will be for our good. Jesus covers us when we feel abused and hurt. Joseph Smith taught that because Christ met the demands of justice, all injustices will be made right for the faithful in the eternal scheme of things (see Teachings, 296). Marie K. Hafen has said, “The gospel of Jesus Christ was not given us to prevent our pain. The gospel was given us to heal our pain” (“Eve Heard All These Things,” 27). Jesus covers us when we feel defenseless and abandoned. Christ referred to Himself as our “advocate” (D&C 29:5): one who believes in us and stands up to defend us. We read, “The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler” (Psalm 18:2). A buckler is a shield used to divert blows. Jesus doesn’t always protect us from unpleasant consequences of illness or the choices of others, since they are all part of what we are here on earth to experience. However, He does shield us from fear in those dark times and delivers us from having to face those difficulties alone. … We’ve already learned that the Hebrew word that is translated into English as Atonement means “to cover.” In Arabic or Aramaic, the verb meaning to atone is kafat, which means “to embrace.” Not only can we be covered, helped, and comforted by the Savior, but we can be “encircled about eternally in the arms of his love” (2 Nephi 1:15). We can be “clasped in the arms of Jesus” (Mormon 5:11). In our day the Savior has said, “Be faithful and diligent in keeping the commandments of God, and I will encircle thee in the arms of my love” (D&C 6:20). (Brad Wilcox, The Continuous Atonement, pp. 47-49, 60).

Liza spoke sharply, “What my mother would mind is what I mind, and I’ll tell you what I mind. You’re never satisfied to let the Testament alone. You’re forever picking at it and questioning it. You turn it over the way a ’coon turns over a wet rock, and it angers me.” “I’m just trying to understand it, Mother.” “What is there to understand? Just read it. There it is in black and white. Who wants you to understand it? If the Lord God wanted you to understand it He’d have given you to understand or He’d have set it down different.

Whatever the water touched was riparian: that moist layer of air and rich earth along the shore was an Eden for many forms of life. Some drowned in a daily flood, while those that knew how, thrived. There was something riparian too about the people who spent most of their time on the water. Those whose language and equilibrium had been dictated by the elements around them. Who’d learned to hang on in the ever-shifting swell and drift of water under their feet. Contrast and contradictions abounded for those who had learned to meander despite limited space or to be still in the midst of all that rocking.

We gathered up the kids and sat up on the hill. We had no time to get our chickens and no time to get our horses out of the corral. The water came in and smacked against the corral and broke the horses' legs. The drowned, and the chickens drowned. We sat on the hill and we cried. These are the stories we tell about the river," said [Ladona] Brave Bull Allard. The granddaughter of Chief Brave Bull, she told her story at a Missouri River symposium in Bismark, North Dakota, in the fall of 2003. Before The Flood, her Standing Rock Sioux Tribe lived in a Garden of Eden, where nature provided all their needs. "In the summer, we would plant huge gardens because the land was fertile," she recalled. We had all our potatoes and squash. We canned all the berries that grew along the river. Now we don't have the plants and the medicine they used to make.

If monks had only been ascetic and eccentric in their behavior, however, they would not have won the devotion and admiration of the people in the way they did. Thus, secondly, their exemplary lifestyle made a profound impact, particularly on the peasants. Their conduct was epitomized in the words of the Celtic monk Columban (543–615), “He who says he believes in Christ ought to walk as Christ walked, poor and humble and always preaching the truth” (quoted in Baker 1970:28). The monks were poor, and they worked incredibly hard; they plowed, hedged, drained morasses, cleared away forests, did carpentry, thatched, and built roads and bridges. “They found a swamp, a moor, a thicket, a rock, and they made an Eden in the wilderness” (Newman 1970:398). Even secular historians acknowledge that the agricultural restoration of the largest part of Europe has to be attributed to them (:399). Through their disciplined and tireless labor they turned the tide of barbarism in Western Europe and brought back into cultivation the lands which had been deserted and depopulated in the age of the invasions. More important, through their sanctifying work and poverty they lifted the hearts of the poor and neglected peasants and inspired them while at the same time revolutionizing the order of social values which had dominated the empire's slave-owning society (cf Dawson 1950:56f).

I want to make love with you right here, Lorens.” Various thoughts flashed through his mind: they were on a public footpath, someone might come by, some other person crazy enough to visit this place in the middle of winter. But anyone crazy enough to do so would also be able to understand that certain forces, once set in motion, cannot be interrupted. He slipped his hands under her sweater and stroked her breasts. Brida surrendered herself entirely. The forces of the world were penetrating her five senses and these were becoming transformed into an overwhelming energy. They lay down on the ground among the rock, the precipice, and the sea, between the life of the seagulls flying up above and the death of the stones beneath. And they began, fearlessly, to make love, because God protects the innocent. They no longer felt the cold. Their blood was flowing so fast in their veins that she tore off some of her clothes and so did he. There was no more pain; knees and back were pressed into the stony ground, but that became part of their pleasure, completing it. Brida knew that she was close to orgasm, but it was still a very remote feeling, because she was entirely connected to the world: her body and Lorens’s body mingled with the sea and the stones, with life and death. She remained in that state for as long as possible, while some part of her was vaguely conscious that she was doing things she had never done before. What she was feeling, though, was the bringing together once more of herself and the meaning of life; it was a return to the garden of Eden; it was the moment when Eve was reabsorbed into Adam’s body and the two halves became Creation.

Technology won’t protect you from being attacked for fresh water. A badass blade will. Back in Eden where I grew up, the closest thing to knifework I’d experienced was cutting up a loaf of warm bread. Last night, I’d gutted a wild prairie chicken after scaling a rock face to find its nest and slit its throat. What a difference a year makes.

Listen to me, you who pursue righteousness,         you who seek the LORD:     look to the rock from which you were hewn,         and to the quarry from which you were dug.     2 Look to Abraham your father         and to Sarah who bore you;     for  e he was but one when I called him,         that I might bless him and multiply him.     3 For the LORD  f comforts Zion;         he comforts all her waste places     and makes her wilderness like  g Eden,         her desert like  h the garden of the LORD;      i joy and gladness will be found in her,         thanksgiving and the voice of song.

Sarnia, completed after Ireland had spent a year living on Guernsey,14 is closely connected to the pagan origins of Guernsey’s store of prehistoric burial chambers and rock monuments, imagining the kind of rites and jamborees that might have occurred round the tumbled stones such as Le Trépied. The score for the first part, ‘Le Catioroc’, contains a passage from De Situ Orbis, a text by Roman writer Pomponius Mela dating from 50 BCE: ‘All day long, heavy silence broods, and a certain hidden terror lurks there. But at nightfall gleams the light of fires; the chorus of Ægipans [fauns] resounds on every side: the shrilling of flutes and the clash of cymbals re-echo the waste shores of the sea.’ That mini-narrative encapsulates the motion of many of Ireland’s pieces, as a calm surface is overrun by more mysterious elemental forces, beings or visions.

he region is stark and hostile, but in the early morning and late afternoon light, when the basalt rocks turn to the color of rust, and the distant mountains to soft shades of purple and blue, it can also be breathtakingly beautiful.

To the Rock, thank you for always starring in Eden’s fantasy and aging like fine wine. Meow. - Chelle To Chelle, who teaches me how to work hard for what you want every single day. Thank you for the

Thanks to these imaginative arrangements and the interplay of seasoned, eclectic, open-minded, professional musicians who could step from a full-blown jazz session to a pop or folk context with practised ease, British folk-rock was aerated with a looseness that carried it beyond its one-man-and-a-guitar roots. ‘I think those kind of musicians at the time were the most flexible,’ commented Cameron many years later. ‘The early rock musicians were sometimes not as flexible as they should be. The classical musicians were totally inflexible, so you needed someone with a large amount of musicality but who could think on their feet. People like Danny Thompson, of course, came into their own. Danny was one of the first of those musicians who said, “I don’t want any boundaries, I’ll play what I damn well like,” and it was those kind of musicians who were great to use.

But this, in turn, was complicated by the need for commercial music, in a crowded marketplace, to promote and develop artists as individual, larger-than-life personalities – a significant break with the anonymous collective transmission of folk music. Dallas creates a useful distinction between purely pop performers – cogs in the capitalist music machine – and pure folk traditionalists such as Harry Cox, by denoting in-between, post-Dylan ‘rock poets’ as ‘Byronic’.

time. The first Fairport Convention gig as a four-piece (with original, short-lived drummer Shaun Frater) took place on 27 May 1967 at St Michael’s Hall in Golders Green. Even in that momentous year for rock music, the date was auspicious: Are You Experienced? had been on the streets for a week and a half, and Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was five days away. As they

It was purely a case of responding to the best of my abilities to what was going on around me,’ says Mattacks, who now lives in Boston, Massachusetts. ‘I didn’t really get it until I’d been in the band about a year. I didn’t really understand the aesthetics of what they were doing. And then when I did, it had quite an effect on how I then perceived music, and my approach to my instrument and the kind of music I wanted to play.’ Mattacks was sympathetic to the ‘four-squariness’ inherent in British folk tunes, but ‘the danger with the worst of folk-rock is that it can sound ploddy, no matter the tempo. So the thing is to have that four-square thing to it, but make it swing.

Released in December 1969, Liege and Lief retains a coherence and integrity shared by very few British folk-rock records.

I can tell you now that if you break things off with Alana, I’m gonna want to high five you in the face with a hammer before we reach New York.

Settle down, Maverick, this isn’t the danger zone.

While the Cannings were still at Bombay, Lord Elphinstone was a charming host and got up two expeditions to famous caves, which showed just how far Raj formality had spread since the Edens' time. On January 31st, a large party went to the caves of Keneri, where everyone had their own cave furnished with washing tubs, sofas, writing-tables "and all requisites down to pen knives and India rubber bands," as Canning noted approvingly in his diary. Lord Elphinstone's servants had laboriously carried all this paraphernalia during the night "to this desolate uninhabited, trackless spot." The Imperial Presence became even more pronounced on February 5th when the Cannings went by steamer to the caves of Elephanta. Tents and huts had been set up outside where the party all changed into evening clothes- all frightfully well organized. Dinner for fifty people was laid in the principal cave, complete with champagne coolers, finger bowls, everything. The British toasted their Queen while Hindu gods carved in the dank rock leered lasciviously. On

They are the end all, be all. They are the memory you fight never to lose. They are the part of yourself you never knew was there, but miss with a passionate desperation.

I wondered if we lose the best parts of ourselves in the mad dash to loosen the shackles of childhood. We were in such a hurry to be free of Willow Heights that we both somehow forgot to take the best parts of who we were with us when we left.

The only selfless thing I’ve ever done in my life. I love you, mami. More than music, more than myself. The only magic I ever really made was the love I had with you. But it’s time for me to let you go. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I ruined us. I’ll never stop loving you.

》Insidious《 "Why are you so cold hearted", she asks. Words of wise say 'There is a pagoda inside every human being'. I want to see. She drops a destination pin twisted at end. In his silence, she sinks into abyss inside him, travelling canyons, caverns and reaches a red dead barren land like amidst of kangaroo country. The only things one see here are Zigzag paths created by Horned vipers, young barrel cactus and corpus of human emotions. "Come under the shelter of this Uluru hill", a thunderous voice she hears. This is blood which trickles like sand in hour glass. The lightning in anonymity is the veins where it flows. That dark clot moving towards mind is sudden anger, spreading in entire body and generates uncontrolled hypertension. Deceit, dishonesty, falsity and hypocrisy of travellers from ages has evolved this place. "But.. but where is that heart soft as fairyfloss? Let me go inside that rock" she urges. You don't need to go there. Purify your heart as of a child in cradle. You will inhale the fumes of fragrance approaching you like incense stick. Then again visit and observe this place, no less than Garden of Eden.

Rob Young, in his essential Electric Eden, describes as Barrett being “strangely pushed and pulled between nostalgia for the secret garden of a child’s imagination and the space-age futurism of interstellar overdrive.” Barrett was channeling a spirit that was trying to pierce the veil between these worlds, and while this nostalgia and futurism, as Young puts it, seem opposed, they are actually two ideas at the heart of magic. The practice of magic is one requiring a link to the past and a vision of the future. Barrett added this directly to the lyrics of his songs and his live performances, experimenting with light and sound in an attempt to work the audience into a trance. The method is new, but the intention is ancient.

From the outside, my life was rock solid. So why couldn’t I shake this unease? This feeling that I was missing something. This feeling that somehow, I’d failed. That I was marching in the wrong direction

Esther watched and already could smell the metal inside the cool tin mug mingling with the smell of the grassy milk and already as much as taste the sweet cool fresh rich milk itself. When her sister, whose name Esther sometimes forgot as she got older, or more, whose name she remembered less and less, passed her the mug it was all she could do not to laugh out loud for joy and wake her father at the prospect of that milk, so cool she didn’t know how her mother kept it, so sumptuous and thick and fresh it was blue in the tin mug and her joy at the sweet rich grassy taste tempered a little but not after all too, too much by having to sip it into her mouth quietly and not smack and gulp it down the way she’d have liked but which, after all, too, upon reflection years later rocking in her chair on the bluff watching the women and girls return from gathering, would have ruined much of the nearly unbearable bliss of anticipation and the relish of the milk’s creamy weight, its musky sweetness, so wonderful she could have sighed out loud, especially when she thought of the savorless lumps they got by on the rest of the time with that sweet taste still in her mouth.

You can’t throw a rock without hitting an Eden.

Another prophecy was fulfilled by the coming of the missionaries. At the close of one of the symbolic Makahiki ceremonies, as the god Lono was placed in a canoe and sent back to Kahiki, a prophecy was given. The Hawaiians had a tradition that one day the real Lono, of whom this was a symbol, would return. The prophecy was that the Lono god would depart but would return in a small black box. It also said that the people would not know him or recognize the language he spoke. When the missionaries were allowed to land at the “Plymouth Rock of Hawai‘i”, the first thing they brought ashore was a black bible box. Upon opening the box, no Hawaiian could understand the writing. The Hawaiian priests declared that the prophecy had been fulfilled.6 Lono, the God of Peace, had finally returned in his new form.

All about her she saw that two thousand out of the horde had made it across the water. They were on the frontier of Eden. A mere two thousand combatants for the invasion of an impregnable fortress. Five out of six Nephilim had perished at the mercy of Rahab and her brood of Leviathan and the tentacled one. The devastation was inestimable. It could lose her the war. Still, she had two thousand warriors with her. They were on the shores of the entrance to the Garden that hid the Tree of Life deep in its midst. Thanks to the Cursed One, she knew exactly where that tree was. She looked for her Rephaim generals but could not find them. They had all been lost to the denizens of the deep. An earthquake rocked the land. It was deep, the precursor of something much bigger. “Now what?” Inanna complained. She looked onto the horizon of her destination. Black smoke billowing out of the mountaintops of not only Mount Sahand, but the more distant northern Mount Savalan. The earth rumbled again. She realized she did not have much time. She signaled for her Anzu bird, and called out to Utu, flying above them at a safe height. “SOUND THE CRY OF WAR!” she bellowed. Utu put the trumpet to his lips and blew with all his might. The war cry of Inanna echoed throughout the land. Her Nephilim gathered their arms and dashed toward the heart of Eden. Inanna mounted her thunderbird. She glanced out at the Lake. Rahab glided on the surface, its eyes watching her. It would not forget this day, nor the Watcher, who for one moment bested the sea dragon of the Abyss.               • • • • • At the top of the Mount Sahand ridge, six thousand Nephilim prepared their sail-chutes. They waited for the call of war. When it came, they jumped off the cliff edge by the dozens. They opened up their sails to float down into the Garden. Handfuls of them failed and Nephilim plummeted to their deaths a thousand feet below. But most of them worked. The Nephilim drifted from the heavens into the pristine paradise. Right into the flaming whirling swords of the Cherubim.

Words are just words, sounds and syllables that fade to nothing. Actions. Deeds. Those are the things that matter.

Sometimes, the bottom is the strongest place to stand when you're trying to get on your feet again.

Now the blues is, was, and always has been the bitch’s brew of the tormented soul. The fifth gospel of grits and groan, it starts with the first moan when Adam and Eve did the nasty thing and got eighty-sixed from the Garden of Eden.

I am nothing, will never be any good to anyone because you aren't here. I go on, I work, I live, but I will never be home again. Not without you.

Can we go back to making out now?" He laughs, feeling better and lighter than he has in ages. "Fuck, yes." Alexander knows he's probably being overdramatic, but kissing Eden is the best damn thing in the world. It was never like this with him and Bea. Not even for a second. With Bea, it was clinical and formulaic and rigid. But with Eden, he's never been so gladly out of his element before. Everything about her excites him to no end. He feels like a teenager because it's only been two seconds into kissing her and he's rock hard again. Eden seems to know this, deliberately rotating her hips against him to send pleasure flooding through his body. He knows it's too soon to do anything with her. He really likes her, and he doesn't want to mess things up by moving too fast. But at the same time, Alexander desperately wants her out of her clothes, splayed out in front of him, ready for him to have like a starving man at an open buffet.