β
We have come from God, and inevitably the myths woven by us, though they contain error, will also reflect a splintered fragment of the true light, the eternal truth that is with God. Indeed only by myth-making, only by becoming 'sub-creator' and inventing stories, can Man aspire to the state of perfection that he knew before the Fall. Our myths may be misguided, but they steer however shakily towards the true harbour, while materialistic 'progress' leads only to a yawning abyss and the Iron Crown of the power of evil.
β
β
J.R.R. Tolkien
β
Barrel boys donβt have parents. Weβre born in the harbour and crawl out of the canals.
β
β
Leigh Bardugo (Six of Crows (Six of Crows, #1))
β
She is a woman of honour and smartness whose wild leaves out luck, always taking risks, and there is something in her brow now, that only she can recognize in a mirror. Ideal and idealistic in that shiny dark hair! People fall in love with her. She is a woman I donβt know well enough to hold in my wing, if writers have wings, to harbour for the rest of my life.
β
β
Michael Ondaatje (The English Patient)
β
You have been taught that you are unclean, that you are not holy, that your body is impure and could never harbour the divine. You have been taught to despise everything you are and to long only to be a man. But you have been taught lies.
β
β
Naomi Alderman (The Power)
β
Iβve spent so much time pushing the boat out that I forgot to jump on and now itβs out beyond the harbour on the high seas, but itβs very nice to look at.
β
β
John Boyne (The Heart's Invisible Furies)
β
The child is small, and he includes the man; the brain is narrow, and it harbours thought; the eye is but a point, and it covers leagues
β
β
Alexandre Dumas fils (La Dame aux CamΓ©lias)
β
Dedication Β This book is dedicated to Sir Terry Pratchett OBE who has stood like a wossname upon the rocky shores of our imaginations β the better to guide us safely into harbour.
β
β
Ben Aaronovitch (Foxglove Summer (Peter Grant, #5))
β
It was a huge comfort to have a person who'd keep you honest with yourself and who also gave you safe harbour.
β
β
Lauren Dane (Taking Care of Business (Kate & Leah, #1))
β
Bilboβs Last Song
Day is ended, dim my eyes,
But journey long before me lies.
Farewell, friends! I hear the call.
The ship's beside the stony wall.
Foam is white and waves are grey;
Beyond the sunset leads my way.
Foam is salt, the wind is free;
I hear the rising of the Sea.
Farewell, friends! The sails are set,
The wind is east, the moorings fret.
Shadows long before me lie,
Beneath the ever-bending sky,
But islands lie behind the Sun
That I shall raise ere all is done;
Lands there are to west of West,
Where night is quiet and sleep is rest.
Guided by the Lonely Star,
Beyond the utmost harbour-bar,
Iβll find the heavens fair and free,
And beaches of the Starlit Sea.
Ship, my ship! I seek the West,
And fields and mountains ever blest.
Farewell to Middle-earth at last.
I see the Star above my mast!
β
β
J.R.R. Tolkien (Bilbo's Last Song (At the Grey Havens))
β
For the only safe harbour in this life's tossing, troubled sea is to refuse to be bothered about what the future will bring and to stand ready and confident, squaring the breast to take without skulking or flinching whatever fortune hurls at us.
β
β
Seneca (Letters from a Stoic)
β
Our ex-wifes always harbour secrets about us that make them irresistable. Until, of course, we remember who we are and what we did and why we are not married anymore.
β
β
Richard Ford (The Lay of the Land (Frank Bascombe, #3))
β
Over time, the ghosts of things that happened start to turn distant; once they've cut you a couple of million times, their edges blunt on your scar tissue, they wear thin. The ones that slice like razors forever are the ghosts of things that never got the chance to happen.
β
β
Tana French (Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4))
β
All sorts of thoughts cross one's mindβit depends upon whether one gives them harbour and encouragement
β
β
Elizabeth Gaskell (Wives and Daughters)
β
For love is a celestial harmony
Of likely hearts compos'd of stars' concent,
Which join together in sweet sympathy,
To work each other's joy and true content,
Which they have harbour'd since their first descent
Out of their heavenly bowers, where they did see
And know each other here belov'd to be.
β
β
Edmund Spenser (Fowre Hymnes)
β
A man is never happy, but spends his whole life in striving after something that he thinks will make him so; he seldom attains his goal, and when he does, it is only to be disappointed; he is mostly shipwrecked in the end, and comes into harbour with mast and rigging gone. And then, it is all one whether he is happy or miserable; for his life was never anything more than a present moment always vanishing; and now it is over.
β
β
Arthur Schopenhauer (Studies in Pessimism: The Essays)
β
The soul attracts that which it secretly harbours; that which it loves, and also that which it fears;
β
β
James Allen (As a Man Thinketh)
β
Only teenagers think boring is bad. Adults, grown men and women who've been around the block a few times, know that boring is a gift straight from God. Life has more than enough excitement up its sleeve, ready to hit you with as soon as you're not looking, without you adding to the drama.
β
β
Tana French (Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4))
β
Seas move away, why not lovers? The harbours of Ephesus, the rivers of Heraclitus disappear and are replaced by estuaries of silt. The wife of Candaules becomes the wife of Gyges. Libraries burn.
β
β
Michael Ondaatje (The English Patient)
β
In History, stagnant waters, whether they be stagnant waters of custom or those of despotism, harbour no life; life is dependent on the ripples created by a few eccentric individuals. In homage to that life and vitality, the community has to brave certain perils and must countenance a measure of heresy. One must live dangerously if one wants to live at all.
β
β
Herbert Read
β
People you knew when you were teenagers, the ones who saw your stupidest haircut and the most embarrassing things you've done in your life, and they still cared about you after all that: they're not replaceable, you know?
β
β
Tana French (Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4))
β
I don't do that kind of negativity. If you put your energy into thinking about how much the fall would hurt, you're already halfway down.
β
β
Tana French (Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4))
β
I wish I could have told him that loneliness is a human invention. Trees are never lonely. Humans think they know with certainty where there being ends and someone else's starts. With there roots tangled and caught up underground, linked to fungi and bacteria, trees harbour no such illusions. For us, everything is interconnected.
β
β
Elif Shafak (The Island of Missing Trees)
β
See you in Djerholm harbour,β Specht called. βNo mourners.β βNo funerals,β the others replied. Strange people.
β
β
Leigh Bardugo (Six of Crows (Six of Crows, #1))
β
It was like being born in Germany after World War II, being from Japan after Pearl Harbour, or America after Hiroshima. History was a bitch sometimes. You couldn't change where you were from. But still, you didn't have to stay there. You didn't have to stay stuck in the past, like the ladies in the DAR, or the Gatlin Historical Society, or the Sisters. And you didn't have to accept that things had to be the way they were, like Lena. Ethan Carte Wate hadn't, and I couldn't either.
β
β
Kami Garcia (Beautiful Creatures (Caster Chronicles, #1))
β
An autumn garden has a sadness when the sun is not shining...
β
β
Francis Brett Young (Cold Harbour)
β
And so there is no reason for you to think that any man has lived long because he has grey hairs or wrinkles, he has not lived long β he has existed long. For what if you should think that man had had a long voyage who had been caught by a fierce storm as soon as he left harbour, and, swept hither and thither by a succession of winds that raged from different quarters, had been driven in a circle around the same course? Not much voyaging did he have, but much tossing about.
β
β
Seneca (On the Shortness of Life: Life Is Long if You Know How to Use It (Penguin Great Ideas))
β
She has a serene, glowing disposition. She looks at you and the rest of the world through the eyes of a lynx and is always mysterious, possibly because she always harbours those hidden laughs just beneath her lips. Sheβs always ready to laugh.
β
β
C. JoyBell C.
β
Now suzanne takes you hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From salvation army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For shes touched your perfect body with her mind.
β
β
Leonard Cohen (Songs of Leonard Cohen, Herewith: Music, Words and Photographs)
β
Back in Washington, alone in the late afternoon of December 7, a chastened Franklin Roosevelt considered the situation. Β He may have wondered how things had gone so terribly wrong. Β But what might have been was now hindsightβthe United States was at war and was in it to win. He spoke quietly to his secretary, Grace Tully. βSit down, Grace. Iβm going before Congress tomorrow. Iβd like to dictate my message. It will be short.βΒ
β
β
Dale A. Jenkins (Diplomats & Admirals: From Failed Negotiations and Tragic Misjudgments to Powerful Leaders and Heroic Deeds, the Untold Story of the Pacific War from Pearl Harbor to Midway)
β
he had long since learned that harbouring regrets was akin to stashing embers in your pockets: it was pointless and bound to hurt.
β
β
Nicholas Eames (Kings of the Wyld (The Band, #1))
β
This is how space begins, with words only, signs traced on the blank page. To describe space: to name it, to trace it, like those portolano-makers who saturated the coastlines with the names of harbours, the names of capes, the names of inlets, until in the end the land was only separated from the sea by a continuous ribbon of text. Is the aleph, that place in Borges from which the entire world is visible simultaneously, anything other than an alphabet?
β
β
Georges Perec (Species of Spaces and Other Pieces)
β
Yamamoto was considered, both in Japan and the United States, as intelligent, capable, aggressive, and dangerous. Motivated by his skill as a poker player and casino gambler, he was continually calculating odds on an endless variety of options. He played bridge and chess better than most good players. Like most powerful leaders he was articulate and persuasive, and once in a position of power he pushed his agenda relentlessly. Whether he would push his odds successfully in the Pacific remained to be seen.
β
β
Dale A. Jenkins (Diplomats & Admirals: From Failed Negotiations and Tragic Misjudgments to Powerful Leaders and Heroic Deeds, the Untold Story of the Pacific War from Pearl Harbor to Midway)
β
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep;
And in his simple show he harbours treason.
β
β
William Shakespeare
β
Now I know itβs because somewhere in my mind, I still harboured hatred and fear for that man, so it was just easier to erect the brick wall and never look back.
β
β
Colleen Hoover (Hopeless (Hopeless, #1))
β
London - beautiful, immortal London - has never been a 'city' in the simplest sense of the word. It was, and is, a living, breathing thing, a stone leviathan that harbours secrets underneath its scales. It guards them covetously, hiding them deep within its body; only the mad or the worthy can find them.
β
β
Samantha Shannon (The Mime Order (The Bone Season, #2))
β
In the New Testament our enemies are those who harbour hostility against us, not those against whom we cherish hostility, for Jesus refuses to reckon with such a possibility. The Christian must treat his enemy as a brother, and requite his hostility with love. His behaviour must be determined not by the way others treat him, but by the treatment he himself receives from Jesus; it has only one source, and that is the will of Jesus.
β
β
Dietrich Bonhoeffer (The Cost of Discipleship)
β
I have never cared for Castles
or a Crown that grips too tight,
Let the night sky be my starry roof
and the moon my only light,
My Heart was born a Hero,
my storm-bound sword won't rest,
I left the Harbour long ago
on a Never-ending Quest,
I am off to the horizon,
where the wild wind blows the foam,
Come get lost with me, love,
and the sea shall be our home!
β
β
Cressida Cowell (How to Fight a Dragonβs Fury (How To Train Your Dragon, #12))
β
Look, boys, it ever strike you that the world not real at all? It ever strike you that we have the only mind in the world and you just thinking up everything else? Like me here, having the only mind in the world, and thinking up you people here, thinking up the war and all the houses and the ships and them in the harbour. That ever cross your mind?
β
β
V.S. Naipaul (Miguel Street)
β
You know your relationship has run its course when, despite any feelings you may still harbour, it just is not worth the heartache anymore.
β
β
Shane K.P. O'Neill
β
We don't sail because the sea is there. We sail because there's a harbour. We don't start by heading for distant shores. We seek protection first.
β
β
Carsten Jensen (We, the Drowned)
β
Can human folly harbour a more arrogant or ungrateful thought than the notion that whereas God makes man beautiful in body, man makes himself pure in heart?
β
β
Augustine of Hippo (Select Letters)
β
My fears forgotten in the golden harbour of his arms.
β
β
Madeline Miller (The Song of Achilles)
β
In the deserted harbour there is yet water that laps against the quays. In the dark and silent forest, there is a leaf that falls. Behind the polished panelling the white ant eats away the wood. Nothing is ever quiet, except for fools
β
β
Alan Paton (Cry, the Beloved Country)
β
The Earth is the only world known so far to harbour life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit? Yes. Settle? Not yet. Like it or not, for the moment, the Earth is where we make our stand. It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. ... To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another and to preserve, and cherish, the pale blue dot; the only home we've ever known.
β
β
Carl Sagan (Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space)
β
The most sensible thing to do to people you hate is to drink their brandy.
β
β
Elizabeth Taylor (A View of the Harbour)
β
Materia had been just six when they docked in Sydney Harbour and her father said, 'Look. This is the New World. Anything is possible here.' She's been too young to realize that he was talking to her brother.
β
β
Ann-Marie MacDonald (Fall on Your Knees)
β
You know, the thing is with people who never talk, the thing is you always suppose they're harbouring some enormous secret. But, just possibly, the secret is, they have absolutely nothing to say.
β
β
Richard Greenberg (Three Days of Rain)
β
In my mind, I built stairways. At the end of the stairways, I imagined rooms. These were high, airy places with big windows and a cool breeze moving through. I imagined one room opening brightly onto another room until I'd built a house, a place with hallways and more staircases. I built many houses, one after another, and those gave rise to a city -- a calm, sparkling city near the ocean, a place like Vancouver. I put myself there, and that's where I lived, in the wide-open sky of my mind. I made friends and read books and went running on a footpath in a jewel-green park along the harbour. I ate pancakes drizzled in syrup and took baths and watched sunlight pour through trees. This wasn't longing, and it wasn't insanity. It was relief. It got me through.
β
β
Amanda Lindhout (A House in the Sky)
β
You're lost, brother. You're a ship adrift, searching for familiar shores. I understand what it is you want. I sought it too. But there is no homeland. It's gone." He paused beside Robin on his way to the door. His fingers landed on Robin's shoulder, squeezed so hard they hurt. "But realize this, brother. You fly no one's flag. You're free to seek your own harbour. And you can do so much more than tread water.
β
β
R.F. Kuang (Babel)
β
In the meantime the strike is over, with a remarkably low loss of life. All is quiet, they report, all is quiet.
In the deserted harbour there is yet water that laps against the quays. In the dark and silent forest there is a leaf that falls. Behind the polished panelling the white ant eats away the wood. Nothing is ever quiet, except for fools.
β
β
Alan Paton (Cry, the Beloved Country)
β
She wore a loose bathrobe that covered up a body that would have won first prize in a beauty contest for cement blocks.....She had a voice that made pearl harbour sound like a lullaby.
β
β
Richard Brautigan (Ψ―Ψ± Ψ±Ψ€ΫΨ§Ϋ Ψ¨Ψ§Ψ¨Ω)
β
After everything is said and done, a memory remains a treacherous thingβ¦How long does one cling on to the people theyβve lost? How long could I have remembered my grandfather? How long had it been since I forgotten him and my mind began harbouring other things?
β
β
Kanza Javed (Ashes, Wine and Dust)
β
I have always been caught by the pull of the unremarkable, by the easily missed, infinitely nourishing beauty of the mundane.
β
β
Tana French (Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4))
β
But, said Lewis, myths are lies, even though lies breathed through silver.
No, said Tolkien, they are not.
...just as speech is invention about objects and ideas, so myth is invention about truth.
We have come from God (continued Tolkien), and inevitably the myths woven by us, though they contain error, will also reflect a splintered fragment of the true light, the eternal truth that is with God. Indeed only by myth-making, only by becoming a 'sub-creator' and inventing stories, can Man aspire to the state of perfection that he knew before the Fall. Our myths may be misguided, but they steer however shakily towards the true harbour, while materialistic 'progress' leads only to a yawning abyss and the Iron Crown of the power of evil.
You mean, asked Lewis, that the story of Christ is simply a true myth, a myth that works on us in the same way as the others, but a myth that really happened? In that case, he said, I begin to understand.
β
β
Humphrey Carpenter (J.R.R. Tolkien: A Biography)
β
Life and death, the child and the mother, are ever meeting as the one draws into harbour and the other sets sail. They exchange a bright "All's well" and pass on.
β
β
J.M. Barrie (The Little White Bird)
β
[Raymond Roussel] said that after his first book he expected that the next morning there would be a kind of aura around his person and that everyone in the street would be able to see that he had written a book. This is the obscure desire harboured by everyone who writes. It is true that the first text one writes is neither written for others, nor because one is what one is: one writes to become other than what one is. One tries to modify one's way of being through the act of writing.
β
β
Michel Foucault
β
If ever he had harboured a conscience in his tough narrow breast he had by now dug out and flung away the awkward thing - flung it so far away that were he ever to need it again he could never find it. High-shouldered to a degree little short of malformation, slender and adroit of limb and frame, his eyes close-set and the colour of dried blood, he is climbing the spiral staircase of the soul of Gormenghast, bound for some pinnacle of the itching fancy - some wild, invulnerable eyrie best known to himself; where he can watch the world spread out below him, and shake exultantly his clotted wings
β
β
Mervyn Peake (The Gormenghast Novels (Gormenghast, #1-3))
β
There's something about sports. You can be setting fire to cats and burying them in your backyard, but as long as you're playing team sports, people think you're okay.
β
β
Polly Horvath (Everything on a Waffle (Coal Harbour #1))
β
We don't often notice the people who look after us, do we? Though we'd miss them if they weren't there
β
β
Ann Cleeves (Harbour Street (Vera Stanhope, #6))
β
To free a man from error is not to deprive him of anything but to give him something: for the knowledge that a thing is false is a piece of truth. No error is harmless: sooner or later it will bring misfortune to him who harbours it. Therefore deceive no one, but rather confess ignorance of what you do not know, and leave each man to devise his own articles of faith for himself.
β
β
Arthur Schopenhauer (Essays and Aphorisms)
β
You can't replace one dog with another any more than you can replace one person with another, but that's not to say you shouldn't get more dogs and people in your life.
β
β
Polly Horvath (One Year in Coal Harbor (Coal Harbour #2))
β
The longer one lives, the more mysterious life seems.
β
β
Francis Brett Young (Cold Harbour)
β
Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog, when it seemed as if a tangible white darkness shut you in, and the great ship, tense and anxious, groped her way toward the shore with plummet and sounding-line, and you waited with beating heart for something to happen? I was like that ship before my education began, only I was without compass or sounding-line, and had no way of knowing how near the harbour was. "Light! give me light!" was the wordless cry of my soul, and the light of love shone on me in that very hour.
β
β
Helen Keller (The Story of My Life)
β
I want someone who puts the whole ball of wax at risk. I want the kind of marriage where we would follow each other out into the stormy fatal sea or I'm not marrying at all.
β
β
Polly Horvath (Everything on a Waffle (Coal Harbour #1))
β
Mental' isn't a reason. It comes in an awful lot of flavors, most of them are non-violent, and every single one of them has some kind of logic, whether or not it makes sense to you and me.
β
β
Tana French (Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4))
β
In political activity . . . men sail a boundless and bottomless sea; there is neither harbour for shelter nor floor for anchorage, neither starting-place nor appointed destination. The enterprise is to keep afloat on an even keel; the sea is both friend and enemy, and the seamanship consists in using the resources of a traditional manner of behaviour in order to make a friend of every hostile occasion.
β
β
Michael Oakeshott (Rationalism in Politics and other essays)
β
Steep are the seas and savaging and cold
In broken waters terrible to try;
And vast against the winter night the wold,
And harbourless for any sail to lie.
But you shall lead me to the lights, and I
Shall hymn you in a harbour story told.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.
β
β
Hilaire Belloc
β
Many Canadian nationalists harbour the bizarre fear that should we ever reject royalty, we would instantly mutate into Americans, as though the Canadian sense of self is so frail and delicate a bud, that the only thing stopping it from being swallowed whole by the US is an English lady in a funny hat.
β
β
Will Ferguson
β
It doesn't matter where you come from. There's nothing you can do about it, so don't waste your energy thinking about it. What matters is where you're going. And that, mate, is something you can control.
β
β
Tana French (Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4))
β
He was distracted at that moment by a black lace bra that was reclining provocatively but somewhat casually on top of the dryer. He gazed at it and realized that the number and cup size that popped into his head the night he'd taken her to Harbour Sixty for dinner were absolutely correct. Gabriel silently congratulated himself.
β
β
Sylvain Reynard (Gabriel's Inferno (Gabriel's Inferno, #1))
β
But this is what I know about people getting ready to walk of the edge of their own lives: they want someone to know how they got there. Maybe they want to know that when they dissolve into earth and water, that last fragment will be saved, held in some corner of someone's mind; or maybe all they want is a chance to dump it pulsing and bloody into someone else's hands, so it won't weigh them down on the journey. They want to leave their stories behind. No one in all the world knows that better than I do.
β
β
Tana French (Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4))
β
I have never cared for castles or a crown that grips too tight,
Let the night sky be my starry roof and the moon my only light,
My heart was born a Hero,
My storm-bound sword won't rest,
I left this harbour long ago on a never-ending quest.
I am off to the horizon,
Where the wild wind blows the foam,
Come get lost with me, love,
And the sea shall be our home.
β
β
Cressida Cowell (How to Break a Dragon's Heart (How to Train Your Dragon, #8))
β
Can it be that there is not enough space for man in this beautiful world, under those immeasurable, starry heavens? Is it possible that man's heart can harbour, amid such ravishing natural beauty, feelings of hatred, vengeance, or the desire to destroy his fellows? All the evil in man, one would think, should disappear on contact with Nature, the most spontaneous expression of beauty and goodness.
β
β
Leo Tolstoy (The Raid)
β
One thing which even the most seasoned and discerning masters of the art of choice do not and cannot choose, is the society to be born into - and so we are all in travel, whether we like it or not. We have not been asked about our feelings anyway. Thrown into a vast open sea with no navigation charts and all the marker buoys sunk and barely visible, we have only two choices left: we may rejoice in the breath-taking vistas of new discoveries - or we may tremble out of fear of drowning. One option not really realistic is to claim sanctuary in a safe harbour; one could bet that what seems to be a tranquil haven today will be soon modernized, and a theme park, amusement promenade or crowded marina will replace the sedate boat sheds. The third option not thus being available, which of the two other options will be chosen or become the lot of the sailor depends in no small measure on the ship's quality and the navigation skills of the sailors. Not all ships are seaworthy, however. And so the larger the expanse of free sailing, the more the sailor's fate tends to be polarized and the deeper the chasm between the poles. A pleasurable adventure for the well-equipped yacht may prove a dangerous trap for a tattered dinghy. In the last account, the difference between the two is that between life and death.
β
β
Zygmunt Bauman (Globalization: The Human Consequences)
β
(...) a course laid between the seed and the snare
marks of venerable syringes ordered
to excite the awareness of Transcendence
first and last harbour the disinfecting of exile
on the bridge no one, only me,
searching for approaches and testing traitor neurons
grading thoughts repenting in an incomprehensible tongue
and again attempting to show the splash-down of a world
which moves up and down within the walls of experience
a tragedy which travels unruffled
hell without sinners without return (...)
β
β
Dimitris Lyacos (The First Death)
β
Donβt fool yourself: we all have a cruel streak. We keep it under lock and key either because weβre afraid of getting punished or because we believe this will somehow make a difference, make the world a better place.
β
β
Tana French (Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4))
β
At heart, we're all violent raging wolves, but in our actions we can be pacifists.
β
β
Polly Horvath (Everything on a Waffle (Coal Harbour #1))
β
Imagination! lifting up itself
Before the eye and progress of my Song
Like and unfather'd vapour; here that Power
In all the might of its endowments, came
Athwart me; I was lost as in a cloud,
Halted without a struggle to break through,
And now recovering to my Soul I say
I recognize they glory; in such strength
Of usurpation, in such visitings
Of awful promise, when the light of sense
Goes out in flashes that have shewn to us
The invisible world, doth Greatness make abode
There harbours whether we be young or old.
Our destiny, our nature, and our home
Is with infinitude, and only there;
With hope it is, hope that can never die,
Effort, and expectation, and desire,
And something evermore about to be.
β
β
William Wordsworth (William Wordsworth's The prelude : with a selection from the shorter poems, the sonnets, The recluse, and The excursion and three essays on the art of poetry)
β
Probably he was thinking what a boring bollocks I was. Plenty of people think the same thing- all of them are teenagers, mentally if not physically. Only teenagers think boring is bad. Adults, grown men and women who've been around the block a few times, know that boring is a gift straight from God. Life has more then enough excitement up its sleeve, ready to hit you as soon as you're not looking, without you adding to the drama.
β
β
Tana French (Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4))
β
Sometimes itβs hard to grasp why it is that the answers to the present lie in the past. A simple analogy might be helpful: a leading psychiatrist in the field of sexual abuse once told me she had, in thirty years of extensive work with paedophiles, never met one who hadnβt himself been abused as a child. This doesnβt mean that all abused children go on to become abusers; but it is impossible for someone who was not abused to become an abuser. No one is born evil. As Winnicott put it: βA baby cannot hate the mother, without the mother first hating the baby.β As babies, we are innocent sponges, blank slates β with only the most basic needs present: to eat, shit, love and be loved. But something goes wrong, depending on the circumstances into which we are born, and the house in which we grow up. A tormented, abused child can never take revenge in reality, as she is powerless and defenceless, but she can β and must β harbour vengeful fantasies in her imagination. Rage, like fear, is reactive in nature.
β
β
Alex Michaelides (The Silent Patient)
β
A ring-whorled prow rode in the harbour,
ice-clad, outbound, a craft for a prince.
They stretched their beloved lord in his boat,
laid out by the mast, amidships,
the great ring-giver. Far fetched treasures
were piled upon him, and precious gear.
I have never heard before of a ship so well furbished
with battle tackle, bladed weapons
and coats of mail. The massed treasure
was loaded on top of him: it would travel far
on out into the ocean's sway.
They decked his body no less bountifully
with offerings than those first ones did
who cast him away when he was a child
and launched him alone over the waves.
And they set a gold standard up
high above his head and let him drift
to wind and tide, bewailing him
and mourning their loss. No man can tell,
no wise man in hall or weathered veteran
knows for certain who salvaged that load.
β
β
Seamus Heaney (Beowulf)
β
Iβm the least fanciful guy around, but on nights when I wonder whether there was any point to my day, I think about this: the first thing we ever did, when we started turning into humans, was draw a line across the cave door and say: Wild stays out. What I do is what the first men did. They built walls to keep back the sea. They fought the wolves for the hearth fire.
β
β
Tana French (Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4))
β
The day had begun sombrely in grey cloud and mist, but had ended in a pomp of scarlet and gold. Over the western hills beyond the harbour were amber deeps and crystalline shadows, with the fire of sunset below. The north was a mackerel sky of little, fiery golden clouds. The red light flamed on the white sails of a vessel gliding down the channel, bound to a Southern port in a land of palms. Beyond her, it smote upon and incarnadined the shining, white, grassless faces of the sand-dunes.
β
β
L.M. Montgomery (Anne's House of Dreams (Anne of Green Gables, #5))
β
In his life he too, like all people, had harboured ideas and dreams. Some he had fulfilled for himself; some had been granted to him. Many things had remained out of reach, or barely had he reached them than they were torn from his hands again. But he was still here. And in the mornings after the first snowmelt, when he walked across the dew-soaked meadow outside his hut and lay down on one of the flat rocks scattered there, the cool stone at his back and the first warm rays of sun on his face, he felt that many things had not gone so badly after all.
β
β
Robert Seethaler (Ein ganzes Leben)
β
Now goes under, and I watch it go under, the sun
That will not rise again.
Today has seen the setting, in your eyes cold and senseless as the sea,
Of friendship better than bread, and of bright charity
That lifts a man a little above the beasts that run.
That this could be!
That I should live to see
Most vulgar Pride, that stale obstreperous clown,
So fitted out with purple robe and crown
To stand among his betters! Face to face
With outraged me in this once holy place,
Where Wisdom was a favoured guest and hunted
Truth was harboured out of danger,
He bulks enthroned, a lewd, an insupportable stranger!
I would have sworn, indeed I swore it:
The hills may shift, the waters may decline,
Winter may twist the stem from the twig that bore it,
But never your love from me, your hand from mine.
Now goes under the sun, and I watch it go under.
Farewell, sweet light, great wonder!
You, too, farewell,-but fare not well enough to dream
You have done wisely to invite the night before the darkness came.
β
β
Edna St. Vincent Millay
β
The smell of the sea swept over the wall and in through the empty window-hole, wide and wild with a million intoxicating secrets. I don't trust that smell. It hooks us somewhere deeper than reason or civilization, in the fragments of our cells that rocked in oceans before we had minds, and it pulls till we follow mindlessly as rutting animals....It lures us to leap off high cliffs, fling ourselves on towering waves, leaves behind everyone we love and face into thousands of miles of open water for the sake of what might be on the far shore.
β
β
Tana French (Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4))
β
But as the Professor continued going deeper into the abyss, he suddenly remembered a quotation by the philosopher Nietzsche that he had read in one of the lectures he had given in the last few days:
''... If you refuse to let your own suffering lie upon you for an hour and if you constantly try to prevent and forestall all possible stress ahead of time; if you experience suffering and displeasure as evil, hateful, worthy of annihilation, and as a defect of existence, then it is clear that besides your religion of pity you also harbour another religion in your heart that is perhaps the mother of the religion of pity: the religion of comfortableness. How little you know of human happiness, you comfortable and benevolent people, for happiness and unhappiness are sisters and even twins that either grow up together or, as in your case, remain small together...
β
β
Anton Sammut (Paceville and Metanoia)
β
In all the days of the Third Age, after the fall of Gil-galad, Master Elrond abode in Imladris, and he gathered there many Elves, and other folk of wisdom and power from among all the kindreds of Middle-earth, and he preserved through many lives of Men the memory of all that had been fair; and the house of Elrond was a refuge for the weary and the oppressed, and a treasury of good counsel and wise lore. In that house were harboured the Heirs of Isildur, in childhood and old age, because of the kinship of their blood with Elrond himself, and because he knew in his wisdom that one should come of their line to whom a great part was appointed in the last deeds of that Age. And until that time came the shards of Elendil's sword were given into the keeping of Elrond, when the days of the DΓΊnedain darkened and they became a wandering people.
β
β
J.R.R. Tolkien (The Silmarillion)
β
Lines written for a thirtieth wedding anniversary
Somewhere up in the eaves it began:
high in the roof β in a sort of vault
between the slates and the gutter β a small leak.
Through it, rain which came from the east,
in from the lights and foghorns of the coast β
water with a ghost of ocean salt in it β
spilled down on the path below.
Over and over and over
years stone began to alter,
its grain searched out, worn in:
granite rounding down, giving way
taking into its own inertia that
information water brought, of ships,
wings, fog and phosphor in the harbour.
It happened under our lives: the rain,
the stone. We hardly noticed. Now
this is the day to think of it, to wonder:
all those years, all those years together β
the stars in a frozen arc overhead,
the quick noise of a thaw in the air,
the blue stare of the hills β through it all
this constancy: what wears, what endures.
β
β
Eavan Boland
β
This power came forth out of the Atlantic Ocean, for in those days the Atlantic was navigable; and there was an island situated in front of the straits which are by you called the Pillars of Heracles; the island was larger than Libya and Asia put together, and was the way to other islands, and from these you might pass to the whole of the opposite continent which surrounded the true ocean; for this sea which is within the Straits of Heracles is only a harbour, having a narrow entrance, but that other is a real sea, and the surrounding land may be most truly called a boundless continent. Now in this island of Atlantis there was a great and wonderful empire which had rule over the whole island and several others, and over parts of the continent, and, furthermore, the men of Atlantis had subjected the parts of Libya within the columns of Heracles as far as Egypt, and of Europe as far as Tyrrhenia. This vast power, gathered into one, endeavoured to subdue at a blow our country and yours and the whole of the region within the straits; and then, Solon, your country shone forth, in the excellence of her virtue and strength, among all mankind. She was pre-eminent in courage and military skill, and was the leader of the Hellenes. And when the rest fell off from her, being compelled to stand alone, after having undergone the very extremity of danger, she defeated and triumphed over the invaders, and preserved from slavery those who were not yet subjugated, and generously liberated all the rest of us who dwell within the pillars. But afterwards there occurred violent earthquakes and floods; and in a single day and night of misfortune all your warlike men in a body sank into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared in the depths of the sea. For which reason the sea in those parts is impassable and impenetrable, because there is a shoal of mud in the way; and this was caused by the subsidence of the island.
β
β
Plato (Timaeus/Critias)
β
All my life I had wanted to travel but what I discovered that year was that the things that you find out become the places that you go and sometimes you find them out by being jettisoned off alone and other times it is the people who choose to stand by your side who give you the clues. But the important things that happen to you will happen to you even in the smallest places...
β
β
Polly Horvath (Everything on a Waffle (Coal Harbour #1))
β
I let myself into the cellar, locked the door behind me. The cellar was cold. I found the whisky, let myself out of the cellar and locked it, turned all the lights out, gave Mrs McSpadden the bottle, accepted a belated new-year kiss from her, then made my way out through the kitchen and the corridor and the crowded hall where the music sounded loud and people were laughing, and out through the now almost empty entrance hall and down the steps of the castle and down the driveway and down to Gallanach, where I walked along the esplanade - occasionally having to wave to say 'Happy New Year' to various people I didn't know - until I got to the old railway pier and then the harbour, where I sat on the quayside, legs dangling, drinking my whisky and watching a couple of swans glide on black, still water, to the distant sound of highland jigs coming from the Steam Packet Hotel, and singing and happy-new-year shouts echoing in the streets of the town, and the occasional sniff as my nose watered in sympathy with my eyes.
β
β
Iain Banks (The Crow Road)
β
Why do I make room in my mind for such ο¬lth and nonsense? Do I hope that if feeling disguises itself as thought I shall feel less? Arenβt all these notes the senseless writhings of a man who wonβt accept the fact that there is nothing we can do with suffering except to suffer it? Who still thinks there is some device (if only he could ο¬nd it) which will make pain not to be pain. It doesnβt really matter whether you grip the arms of the dentistβs chair or let your hands lie in your lap. The drill drills on. And grief still feels like fear. Perhaps, more strictly, like suspense. Or like waiting; just hanging about waiting for something to happen. It gives life a permanently provisional feeling. It doesnβt seem worth starting anything. I canβt settle down. I yawn, I ο¬dget, I smoke too much. Up till this I always had too little time. Now there is nothing but time. Almost pure time, empty successiveness. One ο¬esh. Or, if you prefer, one ship. The starboard engine has gone. I, the port engine, must chug along somehow till we make harbour. Or rather, till the journey ends. How can I assume a harbour? A lee shore, more likely, a black night, a deafening gale, breakers aheadβand any lights shown from the land probably being waved by wreckers. Such was H.βs landfall. Such was my motherβs. I say their landfalls; not their arrivals.
β
β
C.S. Lewis (A Grief Observed)
β
FAUSTUS. Ah, Faustus,
Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,
And then thou must be damn'd perpetually!
Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven,
That time may cease, and midnight never come;
Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again, and make
Perpetual day; or let this hour be but
A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul!
O lente,172 lente currite, noctis equi!
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,
The devil will come, and Faustus must be damn'd.
O, I'll leap up to my God!βWho pulls me down?β
See, see, where Christ's blood streams in the firmament!
One drop would save my soul, half a drop: ah, my Christ!β
Ah, rend not my heart for naming of my Christ!
Yet will I call on him: O, spare me, Lucifer!β
Where is it now? 'tis gone: and see, where God
Stretcheth out his arm, and bends his ireful brows!
Mountains and hills, come, come, and fall on me,
And hide me from the heavy wrath of God!
No, no!
Then will I headlong run into the earth:
Earth, gape! O, no, it will not harbour me!
You stars that reign'd at my nativity,
Whose influence hath allotted death and hell,
Now draw up Faustus, like a foggy mist.
Into the entrails of yon labouring cloud[s],
That, when you173 vomit forth into the air,
My limbs may issue from your smoky mouths,
So that my soul may but ascend to heaven!
[The clock strikes the half-hour.]
Ah, half the hour is past! 'twill all be past anon
O God,
If thou wilt not have mercy on my soul,
Yet for Christ's sake, whose blood hath ransom'd me,
Impose some end to my incessant pain;
Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years,
A hundred thousand, and at last be sav'd!
O, no end is limited to damned souls!
Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul?
Or why is this immortal that thou hast?
Ah, Pythagoras' metempsychosis, were that true,
This soul should fly from me, and I be chang'd
Unto some brutish beast!174 all beasts are happy,
For, when they die,
Their souls are soon dissolv'd in elements;
But mine must live still to be plagu'd in hell.
Curs'd be the parents that engender'd me!
No, Faustus, curse thyself, curse Lucifer
That hath depriv'd thee of the joys of heaven.
[The clock strikes twelve.]
O, it strikes, it strikes! Now, body, turn to air,
Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to hell!
[Thunder and lightning.]
O soul, be chang'd into little water-drops,
And fall into the ocean, ne'er be found!
Enter DEVILS.
My God, my god, look not so fierce on me!
Adders and serpents, let me breathe a while!
Ugly hell, gape not! come not, Lucifer!
I'll burn my books!βAh, Mephistophilis!
[Exeunt DEVILS with FAUSTUS.]
β
β
Christopher Marlowe (Dr. Faustus)
β
I remember this country back when I was growing up. We went to church, we ate family suppers around the table, and it would never even have crossed a kid's mind to tell an adult to fuck off. There was plenty of bad there, I don't forget that, but we all knew exactly where we stood and we didn't break the rules lightly. If that sounds like small stuff to you, if it sounds boring or old-fashioned or uncool, think about this: people smiled at strangers, people said hello to neighbors, people left their doors unlocked and helped old women with their shopping bags, and the murder rate was scraping zero.
Sometime since then, we started turning feral. Wild got into the air like a virus, and it's spreading. Watch the packs of kids roaming inner-city estates, mindless and brakeless as baboons, looking for something or someone to wreck. Watch the businessmen shoving past pregnant women for a seat on the train, using their 4x4s to force smaller cars out of their way, purple-faced and outraged when the world dares to contradict them. Watch the teenagers throw screaming stamping tantrums when, for once, they can't have it the second they want it. Everything that stops us being animals is eroding, washing away like sand, going and gone.
β
β
Tana French (Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4))
β
It is better to be wise for one day than to be intelligent for a thousand.
It is better to know yourself than to understand your enemies.
It is better to find yourself than to find a thousand pots of gold.
It is better to rule your mind than to rule the world.
It is better to fight for justice than to give into tyranny.
It is better to live in a pure mind than to reside in a darkened soul.
It is better to be remembered as a coward than as a fool.
It is better to study yourself than to examine your enemies.
It is better to teach young children than to instruct old fools.
It is better to strengthen your weaknesses than to celebrate your strengths.
It is better to fight your fears than to harbour your anxieties.
It is better to win hearts than to ruin souls.
It is better to think your highest than to act your lowest.
It is better to learn from fools than to ignore the wise.
It is better to learn from your mistakes than to celebrate your success.
It is better to think for yourself than to allow intellectuals to think for you.
It is better to be wise and poor than to be rich and ignorant.Β
It is better to learn from children than to teach the wise.
It is better to learn truth from your enemies than lies from your friends.
It is better to be ostracized for who you are than to be embraced for who you are not.
It is better to be hated for your virtues than to be loved for your vices.
It is better to learn from the wise than to teach the foolish.
It is better to discover your weaknesses than to glorify your strengths.
It is better to heal yourself than to harm your enemies.
It is better to love your enemies than to harm your friends.
It is better to help the weak than to conquer the strong.
β
β
Matshona Dhliwayo
β
The Song Of The Happy Shepherd
The woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Grey Truth is now her painted toy;
Yet still she turns her restless head:
But O, sick children of the world,
Of all the many changing things
In dreary dancing past us whirled,
To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,
Words alone are certain good.
Where are now the warring kings,
Word be-mockers?βBy the Rood,
Where are now the watring kings?
An idle word is now their glory,
By the stammering schoolboy said,
Reading some entangled story:
The kings of the old time are dead;
The wandering earth herself may be
Only a sudden flaming word,
In clanging space a moment heard,
Troubling the endless reverie.
Then nowise worship dusty deeds,
Nor seek, for this is also sooth,
To hunger fiercely after truth,
Lest all thy toiling only breeds
New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth
Saving in thine own heart. Seek, then,
No learning from the starry men,
Who follow with the optic glass
The whirling ways of stars that passβ
Seek, then, for this is also sooth,
No word of theirsβthe cold star-bane
Has cloven and rent their hearts in twain,
And dead is all their human truth.
Go gather by the humming sea
Some twisted, echo-harbouring shell.
And to its lips thy story tell,
And they thy comforters will be.
Rewording in melodious guile
Thy fretful words a little while,
Till they shall singing fade in ruth
And die a pearly brotherhood;
For words alone are certain good:
Sing, then, for this is also sooth.
I must be gone: there is a grave
Where daffodil and lily wave,
And I would please the hapless faun,
Buried under the sleepy ground,
With mirthful songs before the dawn.
His shouting days with mirth were crowned;
And still I dream he treads the lawn,
Walking ghostly in the dew,
Pierced by my glad singing through,
My songs of old earthβs dreamy youth:
But ah! she dreams not now; dream thou!
For fair are poppies on the brow:
Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.
β
β
W.B. Yeats (The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats)
β
Many great and wonderful deeds are recorded of your state in our histories. But one of them exceeds all the rest in greatness and valour. For these histories tell of a mighty power which unprovoked made an expedition against the whole of Europe and Asia, and to which your city put an end. This power came forth out of the Atlantic Ocean, for in those days the Atlantic was navigable; and there was an island situated in front of the straits which are by you called the Pillars of Heracles; the island was larger than Libya and Asia put together, and was the way to other islands, and from these you might pass to the whole of the opposite continent which surrounded the true ocean; for this sea which is within the Straits of Heracles is only a harbour, having a narrow entrance, but that other is a real sea, and the surrounding land may be most truly called a boundless continent. Now in this island of Atlantis there was a great and wonderful empire which had rule over the whole island and several others, and over parts of the continent, and, furthermore, the men of Atlantis had subjected the parts of Libya within the columns of Heracles as far as Egypt, and of Europe as far as Tyrrhenia. This vast power, gathered into one, endeavoured to subdue at a blow our country and yours and the whole of the region within the straits; and then, Solon, your country shone forth, in the excellence of her virtue and strength, among all mankind. She was pre-eminent in courage and military skill, and was the leader of the Hellenes. And when the rest fell off from her, being compelled to stand alone, after having undergone the very extremity of danger, she defeated and triumphed over the invaders, and preserved from slavery those who were not yet subjugated, and generously liberated all the rest of us who dwell within the pillars. But afterwards there occurred violent earthquakes and floods; and in a single day and night of misfortune all your warlike men in a body sank into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared in the depths of the sea. For which reason the sea in those parts is impassable and impenetrable, because there is a shoal of mud in the way; and this was caused by the subsidence of the island.
β
β
Plato (Timaeus)
β
You. Man at the machine and man in the workshop. If tomorrow they tell you you are to make no more water-pipes and saucepans but are to make steel helmets and machine-guns, then there's only one thing to do:
Say NO!
You. Woman at the counter and woman in the office. If tomorrow they tell you you are to fill shells and assemble telescopic sights for snipers' rifles, then there's only one thing to do:
Say NO!
You. Research worker in the laboratory. If tomorrow they tell you you are to invent a new death for the old life, then there's only one thing to do:
Say NO!
You. Priest in the pulpit. If tomorrow they tell you you are to bless murder and declare war holy, then there's only one thing to do:
Say NO!
You. Pilot in your aeroplane. If tomorrow they tell you you are to
carry bombs over the cities, then there's only one thing to do: Say NO!
You. Man of the village and man of the town. If tomorrow they come and give you your call-up papers, then there's only one thing to do:
Say NO!
You. Mother in Normandy and mother in the Ukraine, mother in Vancouver and in London, you on the Hwangho and on the Mississippi, you in Naples and Hamburg and Cairo and Oslo - mothers in all parts of the earth, mothers of the world, if tomorrow they tell you you are to bear new soldiers for new battles, then there's only one thing to do:
Say NO!
For if you do not say NO - if YOU do not say no - mothers, then: then!
In the bustling hazy harbour towns the big ships will fall silent as corpses against the dead deserted quay walls, their once shimmering bodies overgrown with seaweed and barnacles, smelling of graveyards and rotten fish.
The trams will lie like senseless glass-eyed cages beside the twisted steel skeleton of wires and track.
The sunny juicy vine will rot on decaying hillsides, rice will dry in the withered earth, potatoes will freeze in the unploughed land and cows will stick their death-still legs into the air like overturned chairs.
In the fields beside rusted ploughs the corn will be flattened like a beaten army.
Then the last human creature, with mangled entrails and infected lungs, will wander around, unanswered and lonely, under the poisonous glowing sun, among the immense mass graves and devastated cities.
The last human creature, withered, mad, cursing, accusing - and the terrible accusation: WHY?
will die unheard on the plains, drift through the ruins, seep into the rubble of churches, fall into pools of blood, unheard, unanswered,
the last animal scream of the last human animal -
All this will happen tomorrow, tomorrow, perhaps, perhaps even tonight, perhaps tonight, if - if -
You do not say NO.
β
β
Wolfgang Borchert
β
Physiological stress, then, is the link between personality traits and disease. Certain traits β otherwise known as coping styles β magnify the risk for illness by increasing the likelihood of chronic stress. Common to them all is a diminished capacity for emotional communication. Emotional experiences are translated into potentially damaging biological events when human beings are prevented from learning how to express their feelings effectively. That learning occurs β or fails to occur β during childhood. The way people grow up shapes their relationship with their own bodies and psyches. The emotional contexts of childhood interact with inborn temperament to give rise to personality traits. Much of what we call personality is not a fixed set of traits, only coping mechanisms a person acquired in childhood.
There is an important distinction between an inherent characteristic, rooted in an individual without regard to his environment, and a response to the environment, a pattern of behaviours developed to ensure survival. What we see as indelible traits may be no more than habitual defensive techniques, unconsciously adopted. People often identify with these habituated patterns, believing them to be an indispensable part of the self. They may even harbour self-loathing for certain traits β for example, when a person describes herself as βa control freak.β In reality, there is no innate human inclination to be controlling. What there is in a βcontrollingβ personality is deep anxiety.
The infant and child who perceives that his needs are unmet may develop an obsessive coping style, anxious about each detail. When such a person fears that he is unable to control events, he experiences great stress. Unconsciously he believes that only by controlling every aspect of his life and environment will he be able to ensure the satisfaction of his needs. As he grows older, others will resent him and he will come to dislike himself for what was originally a desperate response to emotional deprivation. The drive to control is not an innate trait but a coping style. Emotional repression is also a coping style rather than a personality trait set in stone.
Not one of the many adults interviewed for this book could answer in the affirmative when asked the following: When, as a child, you felt sad, upset or angry, was there anyone you could talk to β even when he or she was the one who had triggered your negative emotions? In a quarter century of clinical practice, including a decade of palliative work, I have never heard anyone with cancer or with any chronic illness or condition say yes to that question. Many children are conditioned in this manner not because of any intended harm or abuse, but because the parents themselves are too threatened by the anxiety, anger or sadness they sense in their child β or are simply too busy or too harassed themselves to pay attention. βMy mother or father needed me to be happyβ is the simple formula that trained many a child β later a stressed and depressed or physically ill adult β into lifelong patterns of repression.
β
β
Gabor MatΓ© (When the Body Says No: The Cost of Hidden Stress)