F Awe Quotes

Often people display a curious respect for a man drunk, rather like the respect of simple races for the insane. Respect rather than fear. There is something awe-inspiring in one who has lost all inhibitions, who will do anything. Of course we make him pay afterward for his moment of superiority, his moment of impressiveness.

The reaction came when he realized the waste and extravagance involved. He somtimes looked back with awe at the carnivals of affection he had given, as a general might gaze upon a massacre he had ordered to satisfy an impersonal blood lust.

Having faith and belief in my inner guidance allows me to see the world in a way that strengthens that faith and belief and brings with it a life filled with welcomed expectation and awe.

There is something awe-inspiring in one who has lost all inhibitions, who will do anything. Of course we make him pay afterward for his moment of superiority, his moment of impressiveness.

Nevertheless, his very superiority kept him from being a success in college--the independence was mistaken for egotism, and the refusal to accept Yale standards with the proper awe seemed to belittle all those who had.

He sometimes looked back with awe at the carnivals of affection he had given, as a general might gaze upon a massacre he had ordered to satisfy an impersonal blood lust.

Often people display a curious respect for a man drunk, rather like the respect of simple races for the insane. Respect rather than fear. There is something awe-inspiring in one who has lost all inhibitions, who will do anything. Of course we make him pay afterward for his moment of superiority,

It's been said that the Ironman marathon is the place where you meet yourself - inner voices that never existed before suddenly roar, weaknesses neglected in training become painfully clear, and new reserves of strength manifest in awe-inspiring ways. I met myself at mile 10. And let me tell you: I'm a real asshole.

Turn to the wind, I dare you For time is but a space that is captured Live in fear or peace, which will you? For none shall stand at ease In fickleness of all human nature You will fear while in peace and complain while in fear.

What do we do with mountains? For us who have lived most of our lives on monotonous level ground, mountains give indelible character to the landscape. They evoke wonder, awe, a multitude of questions as to their purpose, their grandeur and the mystery of creation.

At nineteen Rimbaud reminded us To despair: there was nothing more to do, Hell was closed for all seasons, And for all practical purposes it was All burnt out. ... At nineteen All our vanity sobered into desperate awe: We drank our beer, and cursed Rimbaud.

When Pablo Picasso was an old man, he was sitting in a café in Spain, doodling on a used napkin. He was nonchalant about the whole thing, drawing whatever amused him in that moment—kind of the same way teenage boys draw penises on bathroom stalls—except this was Picasso, so his bathroom-stall penises were more like cubist/impressionist awesomeness laced on top of faint coffee stains. Anyway, some woman sitting near him was looking on in awe. After a few moments, Picasso finished his coffee and crumpled up the napkin to throw away as he left. The woman stopped him. “Wait,” she said. “Can I have that napkin you were just drawing on? I’ll pay you for it.” “Sure,” Picasso replied. “Twenty thousand dollars.” The woman’s head jolted back as if he had just flung a brick at her. “What? It took you like two minutes to draw that.” “No, ma’am,” Picasso said. “It took me over sixty years to draw this.” He stuffed the napkin in his pocket and walked out of the café. Improvement at anything is based on thousands of tiny failures, and the magnitude of your success is based on how many times you’ve failed at something.

You are incredibly beautiful to me, and I do not just mean your appearance or your body. Down to your soul, you are beautiful. You are so honest about who you are. So free with your thoughts and emotions. Growing up, everyone around me was guarded. So closed off. But you…you have this divine light about you. This pure honesty and goodness. It shows when you work the everlass, and it shines through in your healing gifts. Your thoughtful expressions are so lovely because I can practically see the wheels in that big brain of yours turning. You’re so smart and capable, Finley. So tough and unyielding in your ability to survive. I am in awe of you. But most of all, I love your fire and your passion. I love that you refuse to let others dictate who you are. I love that you dig in and push back when I try to dominate you, challenging me to be better, stronger. It’s arousing but also… It’s just… You’re perfect. I wish I were a poet so I could express it properly. When others look at you, they might see your surface beauty. I wanted you to know that when I look at you, I see the beauty of your soul, and I am in rapture. I see you, Finley. That is what I wanted to say. I see all of you, and you are beautiful.

The Fellowship of the Believers 42And  a they devoted themselves to the apostles’  b teaching and the  c fellowship, to  d the breaking of bread and the prayers. 43And awe [5] came upon every soul, and  e many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. 44And all who believed were together and  f had all things in common. 45And  f they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. 46And day by day,  g attending the temple  h together and  i breaking bread in their homes, they received their food  j with glad and generous hearts, 47praising God and  k having favor with all the people. And the Lord  l added to their number  m day by day those who  n were being saved.

After a torrent of rapid knocking, Lucy swept past her in the hallway, threw her purse on the table, and landed her ass on the couch before turning expectantly toward Riley and patting the couch next to her. Her dark eyes examined every nuance of Riley’s appearance. “Okay, dish,” she demanded. “Every last detail.” Riley rolled her eyes and shook her head as she scooted across the floor in her sock feet. She didn’t feel great, but at least she wasn’t in full torture mode. She thought Lucy might have waited until afternoon instead of showing up at ten-thirty a.m. but what the hell. Her old sweatshirt hugged against her stomach as she pulled her arms together. “Well,” she feigned ignorance, “what do you want to talk about?” Lucy slammed her hand on the couch. “Oh, don’t you even. Right now.” She threw herself back against the couch, her face fixed in a not-to-be-toyed-with expression. Riley noted with mild interest how her breasts jiggled inside her white t-shirt. Maybe she was turning into some kind of sex fiend. “Okay, yes, he sets me on fire. I can’t help it. Blame my gender lineage.” “I could see he set you fire. Your eyes could hardly look at anything else.” She picked at a tear in her faded jeans then flared back at Riley with an expression of awe. “Of course, my eyes had a few spasms of their own in his direction. Shit, the man is a god. I can’t remember seeing a body that well put together. At least,” she arched her back, “not a male body.” Riley threw back her head and laughed. Lucy was good tonic, at the very least. “Oh my god, can you stand it?!” “No—but tell me you didn’t give in, before I pass out.” “No, we didn’t have sex. But he did kiss me and my panties nearly fell straight to my ankles,” she chuckled. “He stopped himself, thank god, or I would have had him right there on the floor.” “You were drunk.” “Oh, yeah, ridiculous drunk. He ordered steaks delivered while he drove me home, and then sliced the steak for me and practically put it in my mouth.” She couldn’t sit still, the memory forcing her up from the couch to pace. She’d spent the entire morning and half the night trying to forget everything about him, and of course the other half had been consumed with remembering everything about him. “Shit. Fire.” Lucy’s glance followed her. “I want some. Can we have him?

finally there was only one corpse left. A large man, weighing well over two hundred pounds, lay tightly wedged between two boulders deeply imbedded in the earth. His shirtless torso had a sickly greenish sheen. The only way to dislodge the man was to wrap arms around him in a bear hug and pull him from the rocks—not a pleasant prospect. We huddled in a silent group and looked at the dead man, building our resolve. Finally, SSgt. Ken Bollinger spoke, “I’ll do it.” The rest of us sighed in relief. Ken had a body builder’s muscular physique. He would need his great strength to free the wedged corpse. Sergeant Bolliger positioned a vinyl body bag next to the man-in-the-rocks. Then he lay on top of the corpse and worked his arms under and around the dead man’s chest. He intertwined his fingers, locked his grip and squirmed to his knees, struggling for leverage. As Ken heaved upwards we watched in awe as his muscles bunched and his face reddened with herculean exertion. And suddenly, the man-in-the-rocks came apart in the middle, his entrails spilling onto the ground. Some of us groaned and turned away, but Sergeant Bollinger was unfazed. He methodically filled the body bag with the largest parts of the corpse, then scooped the remaining organs and pieces into the bag. When he was finished not a speck of the person remained on the ground. We gave him kudos as he slowly stood. His uniform was slick with gore and stank of death, but he appeared totally unfazed. We all praised him, “That was hardcore Ken.” he looked at us quizzically, genuinely taken aback. “No big deal.” he said.

imagine he’s just given me a compliment because his face is one-half awe, one-half shock. It’s the face of a man who’s just realized his grandma smokes pot.

The perpetrator of such a misdemeanor must have a motive. Is UMMO the private joke of a group of Spanish engineers? Is it a psychological warfare exercise, as some French analysts suspect? Or is the truth more complex, rooted in a social reality where the ideas and symbols of UMMO have acquired a life of their own, their special mythology, and a set of beliefs that feed on themselves? We can at least be certain of one thing: the UMMO documents do not come from advanced beings trying to demonstrate their existence to us. But try to explain it to their disciples! Very few UFO believers, and even fewer of their New Age counterparts, have any formal training in science. They are easily awed by any document that contains a few equations and a numerical system of base 12. Yet if they had some awareness of modern technology, they would realize how easy it should be for an advanced race to prove its genuine skill to a society like the human race. After reading the masses of documents purportedly coming from the planet UMMO, I asked myself: if I had the opportunity to communicate with intelligent beings of an earlier time, such as the high priests of Egypt, how would I establish a meaningful dialogue? I certainly would not insult them by sending a letter beginning with ”We are aware of the transcendence of what we are about to tell you”—especially if I had an imperfect command of hieroglyphics! Instead, I would concentrate on a few points of valuable, verifiable information. Since the Egyptians already knew how to make electrical batteries and were aware of the magnetic properties of certain minerals, I would send them a simple set of instructions to make a coil and a compass. I could explain resistance and Ohm’s Law, a simple equation that was easily within the grasp of their mathematicians. Or I would tell them about making glass and lenses from sand. If they wanted proof, I would not bother to reveal to them set theory or the fact that E is equal to mc2. Instead, I would send them a table predicting future eclipses, or a diagram to build an alternator, or Leonardo da Vinci’s design for variable-speed cogwheels. That should get the attention of the top scientists in their culture and open up a dialogue. Unfortunately, the extraterrestrials of UMMO and other planets never seem to communicate at this level. Are they afraid of collapsing our society by appearing too advanced with respect to us? This hypothesis does not hold, since they have chosen a very obvious way of showing themselves in our skies.

The central question in the analysis of the UFO phenomenon has always been that of the controlling intelligence behind the objects' apparently purposeful behavior. For the time being, let me simply state again that the modern, global belief in flying saucers and their occupants is identical to an earlier belief in the Good People. The entities described as the pilots of the craft are indistinguishable from the elves, sylphs, and lutins of the Middle Ages. Through the observations of unidentified flying objects, we are concerned with an agency our ancestors knew well and regarded with awe: we are prying into the affairs of the Secret Commonwealth.

The Kennans sailed for Europe in mid-July 1936, sharing the SS Manhattan with the “gum-chewing supermen” and “hefty amazons” who would represent the United States at the Berlin Olympics. Upon arrival in Hamburg, [t]he athletes lined the rail of the ship and light-heartedly shouted their locker-room banter at the people on shore. It did not occur to them that these people would not be apt to understand much of it. They failed to notice that the country before their eyes was a country different—excitingly, provocatively different—from their own. To myself, for whom these transitions from one world to another had never ceased to be momentous, awe-compelling experiences, . . . this was a little sad.

I cannot recall A stressful silence Taking over for our words. She was thrilled to see me, As I was in awe of her. And together We both felt utterly complete.

[Jer. 33:6–9] “ ‘Nevertheless, I will bring health and healing to it; I will heal my people and will let them enjoy abundant peace and security. I will bring Judah and Israel back from captivity7 and will rebuild them as they were before. I will cleanse them from all the sin they have committed against me and will forgive all their sins of rebellion against me. Then this city will bring me renown, joy, praise and honor before all nations on earth that hear of all the good things I do for it; and they will be in awe and will tremble at the abundant prosperity and peace I provide for it.

NIAGARA FALLS. Niagara, thou mighty flood. I've seen thee fall, I've heard thee roar, And on the frightful verges stood, That overhang thy rocky shore. I've sailed o'er surging waves below, And view'd the rainbow's colour'd light, And felt the spray, thy waters throw, When leaping, with resistless might. I've seen the rapids in their course, Like madden'd, living things rush on, With wild, unhesitating force, To where thy mighty chasms yawn. And there to take the awful leap, And fall, with hoarse and sullen roar, Into th' unfathomable deep, Which rolleth on, from shore to shore. Niagara, thou'rt mighty, grand, Thou fill'st human souls with awe, For thee, and for that mighty Hand, Which maketh thee, by nature's law. Thou'rt great, thou mighty, foaming mass Of water, plunging, roaring down, But so are we, yea, we surpass Thee, and we wear a nobler crown. Thy mighty head is crowned with foam, And rainbows wreathe thy robes of blue; Our earthly forms—our present home— Are insignificant to you. But look, thou mighty thund'rer, thou, Tho' puny be our forms to thine, These forms possess, yea, even now, A spark, a ray of life divine. Rush on, O waters! proudly hurl Thyself to roaring depths below, And let the mists of ages curl, And generations come and go. But know, stupendous wonder, know, Thy rocks would crumble, at the nod Of Him, who lets thy waters flow; Thy Maker, but our Friend and God. Thy rocks shall crumble, fall they must; Thy waters, then, shall plunge no more, But we shall rise, e'en from the dust, To live upon another shore.

Still, I was there. I watched Athena die. My feelings those first few weeks are dominated less by grief and more by an awed shock. That really happened. I really watched her feet drumming against her hardwood floors, her fingers clawing at her neck. I really sat next to her dead body for ten whole minutes before the EMTs arrived. I really saw her eyes bulging open, stricken, unseeing. Those memories don’t make me cry—I couldn’t describe this as pain—but I do stare at the wall and mutter, “What the fuck?” several times a day.

Opinion, even fact itself, can best be judged by conflict, by debate. There is an important element missing when there is unanimity of viewpoint. Yet that not only can happen; it frequently does when the recommendations are being given to the President of the United States. His office creates such respect and awe that it has almost a cowering effect on men. Frequently I saw advisers adapt their opinions to what they believed President Kennedy and, later, President Johnson wished to hear.