Oasis And Mirage Quotes

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I couldn't take my eyes off him. Like a desert wanderer afraid of mirages, I gazed at my oasis, but he was real.
Laura Whitcomb (A Certain Slant of Light (Light, #1))
Food of Love Eating is touch carried to the bitter end. -Samuel Butler II I'm going to murder you with love; I'm going to suffocate you with embraces; I'm going to hug you, bone by bone, Till you're dead all over. Then I will dine on your delectable marrow. You will become my personal Sahara; I'll sun myself in you, then with one swallow Drain you remaining brackish well. With my female blade I'll carve my name In your most aspiring palm Before I chop it down. Then I'll inhale your last oasis whole. But in the total desert you become You'll see me stretch, horizon to horizon, Opulent mirage! Wisteria balconies dripping cyclamen. Vistas ablaze with crystal, laced in gold. So you will summon each dry grain of sand And move towards me in undulating dunes Till you arrive at sudden ultramarine: A Mediterranean to stroke your dusty shores; Obstinate verdue, creeping inland, fast renudes Your barrens; succulents spring up everywhere, Surprising life! And I will be that green. When you are fed and watered, flourishing With shoots entwining trellis, dome and spire, Till you are resurrected field in bloom, I will devour you, my natural food, My host, my final supper on the earth, And you'll begin to die again.
Carolyn Kizer
I have become intoxicated again. You are such a potent wine, my friend. To escape your withdrawal effects, tomorrow I will drink in excess. Alas, why make me love? I was aware, conscious, and sensible before. I am ill by cause of this illusion. The devil plays tricks on me more and more. I was a harp you immaculately plucked at will. Your score, the nightingale song within notes composed to imprison and bear me wings. Oh, if only they could hear how it sings! I am now beyond parched. My strings left untouched. You are no longer an oasis, my friend, but a mirage soon coming to an end.
Kamand Kojouri
Sarah is a mirage after all; an oasis in this arid, amnesiac, desert mindscape. I fear if I get too close she too will turn to dust.
Jonathan Dunne (Hide the Elephant)
Life without strife is a rose without thorns. Alive as one is thriving today towards tomorrow, Nowhere is the past but simply a school of memory. Dreams, wishes, goals then becomes a wheel of “wills,” Spirit of a unique being on each soul breathing. Care to ponder some matter or another? Awareness sliding towards discovery gliding… Peace, contentment, fulfillment, Enwrapped like a mirage enchantment. Soaring freely, excitingly, happily home-love-bound! Over precious moments in a breathing of a soul, Flowing high emotions, feelings, hearts in bliss. All around any season of one's existence, one asks: “Anyone out there? A heart of a soul that didn’t harden? A touch of a soul that didn’t hurt? A life of a soul that didn't love?” Sands of time, rough, warm, indefinite, simply spreading, transforming, mounting. Oasis of a soul from a desert journey, flourishing with endless beauty and security. Utmost bliss, fulfillment and contentment, under covers a struggling, hopeful soul, Laboring service, living justice, loving peace and tranquillity passed on to humanity!�
Angelica Hopes (Rhythm of a Heart, Music of a Soul)
The man angered her, made her feel like she wasn't wanted, and yet her damned libido still wanted him. It was just her dry spell, and he happened to be an oasis in the desert. A Mirage. That was it.
Carrie Ann Ryan (Delicate Ink (Montgomery Ink, #1))
The artist, wrote Joseph Conrad, “speaks to our capacity for delight and wonder, to the sense of mystery surrounding our lives.” That was the art that Scott Fitzgerald would find, reminding us that a mirage may be more marvelous in its way than an oasis in the desert. Gatsby’s great error is his belief in the reality of the mirage; Fitzgerald’s great gift was his belief in the mirage as a mirage. “Splendor,” Fitzgerald came to understand, “was something in the heart.
Sarah Churchwell (Careless People: Murder, Mayhem, and the Invention of The Great Gatsby)
Your natural state has no relationship whatsoever with the religious states of bliss, beatitude and ecstasy; they lie within the field of experience. Those who have led man on his search for religiousness throughout the centuries have perhaps experienced those religious states. So can you. They are thought-induced states of being, and as they come, so do they go. Krishna Consciousness, Buddha Consciousness, Christ Consciousness, or what have you, are all trips in the wrong direction: they are all within the field of time. The timeless can never be experienced, can never be grasped, contained, much less given expression to, by any man. That beaten track will lead you nowhere. There is no oasis situated yonder; you are stuck with the mirage.
Jed McKenna (Spiritually Incorrect Enlightenment (The Enlightenment Trilogy Book 2))
Between Esther and the horizon, the wagons shimmered in the heat. She knew that they weren't an oasis— no cool shade or sweet water was waiting for her there. But they weren't a mirage, either, and that hope felt like just enough to fit in her fists.
Sarah Gailey (Upright Women Wanted)
You make me feel…like a dying man in the desert. And you’re the fresh spring, the oasis. The water for my parched fucking soul.” He shuddered, a movement that spread through his whole body. “But I’m terrified,” he whispered, “absolutely fucking terrified…that you’re just a mirage.
Nicole French (Discreet (The Discreet Duet #1))
Sometimes it's the case that when you hear the thing you have most wanted to hear, you cannot take it in. Hope is everyone's mirage and everyone who comes upon that green and grassy spot, the swaying date palms and the bubbling blue pool, is temporarily taken in, even people who have been there before and even when, upon closer inspection, the oasis is nothing but a reef of sand; even with grains of sand blowing lightly across our faces, we find ourselves standing on soft grass of a tenacious, unreasonable green.
Amy Bloom
as the jury from Simi Valley informed the world that the police in the Rodney King episode weren’t guilty of so much as hiding evidence, much less using “undue force.” The ten verdicts fell like empty zeros into the air, and I felt like a person who’d mistaken a mirage for an oasis, as if each of the counts had been cruelly transformed into “Greetings from the Land That Time Forgot!” “Oh,” Renzo said, “oh, oh, oh! Were those people blind or what? I’m stunned. What is undue force, then?
Eve Babitz (Black Swans: Stories)
Abdulaziz incorporated Jizan Province, just north of Yemen, into his realm in 1930. This led to border tensions with Imam Yahiya in Sanaa, which were exacerbated by differing religious doctrines. Yahiya was a Zaydi, and while the differences in dogma between this moderate Shia sect and the Wahhabis were relatively minor, each group considered the other to be heretics.37 Although armed conflict over charges of heresy may seem extraordinary to the modern Westerner, it was common enough in Europe before the Peace of Westphalia in 1648. In 1932, these existing religious tensions and territorial ambitions turned into armed conflict when Imam Yahiya occupied the great oasis of Najran, which lay across important trade routes from Yemen into the southern Nejd.
David Rundell (Vision or Mirage: Saudi Arabia at the Crossroads)
Our team walked through the women’s empowerment center, which was operating in a multistory building, one of the stops we were contemplating for the First Lady. The young man and woman escorting us took us to the roof as part of the tour. I looked out over the city, and other than the bright blue sea, most everything I saw was dusty, arid, and brown except, off in the distance, where I noticed a patch of vibrant green. There were nice buildings and what appeared to be trees and grass. It looked like a desert oasis, or a mirage. “What’s that?” I asked. “That,” our consul general said, “is an Israeli settlement.” “But it’s so green. I thought you said there was very little running water here.” “That’s right,” he said. “There’s limited running water here. The Israelis control the water so twenty times more goes there than comes here.” It was the first time I saw up close what it was like to live under the daily humiliation Palestinians had suffered for years. There it was, a better, easier life, starting right at them.
Huma Abedin (Both/And: A Memoir)
In the middle of a desert of ennui, an oasis of fear, or horror. There is no more lucid diagnosis of the illness of modern humanity. To break out of ennui, to escape from boredom, all we have at our disposal—and it’s not even automatically at our disposal, again we have to make an effort—is horror, in other words, evil. Either we live like zombies, like slaves fed on soma, or we become slave drivers, malignant individuals, like that guy who, after killing his wife and three children, said, as the sweat poured off him, that he felt strange, possessed by something he’d never known: freedom, and then he said that the victims had deserved it, although a few hours later, when he’d calmed down a bit, he also said that no one deserved to die so horribly, and added that he’d probably gone crazy and told the police not to listen to him. An oasis is always an oasis, especially if you come to it from a desert of boredom. In an oasis you can drink, eat, tend to your wounds, and rest, but if it’s an oasis of horror, if that’s the only sort there is, the traveler will be able to confirm, and this time irrefutably, that the flesh is sad, that a day comes when all the books have indeed been read, and that travel is the pursuit of a mirage. All the indications are that every oasis in existence has either attained or is drifting toward the condition of horror.
Roberto Bolaño (The Insufferable Gaucho)
Worship is when you’re aware that what you’ve been given is far greater than what you can give. Worship is the awareness that were it not for his touch, you’d still be hobbling and hurting, bitter and broken. Worship is the half-glazed expression on the parched face of a desert pilgrim as he discovers that the oasis is not a mirage.
Max Lucado (Jesus: The God Who Knows Your Name)
We hold in the highest disdain the parental and state failings that visit such misfortunes on children like Dillon. Most of us would have the most urgent sympathy for newborn Dillon in care; five-year-old Dillon being beaten by his stepfather; seven-year-old Dillon being misdiagnosed as not having any special educational needs; eight-year-old Dillon preyed upon by gangs who lurk outside the care home knowing it to be a ripe source of cheap, impressionable drug-and-weapons couriers; nine-year-old Dillon being given his first taste of cocaine. Yet the moment they turn ten, the age of criminal responsibility, and transgress the law, the oasis of public sympathy is exposed as a mirage; we zero in on that word – responsibility – and demand that these children take it.
The Secret Barrister (Nothing But The Truth: The Memoir of an Unlikely Lawyer)
Desert rose! Like the traveler who wants to go everywhere, Like the sunshine that falls on everything, I want to travel too, but in one direction, that can be anywhere, As long as it leads to you, because without you, the world means nothing, Like the desert I want to spread endlessly, Like the wind I desire to be free, And chase your mirages over sand dunes tirelessly, And then wherever you are, there I shall be, Like the desert let your love be clear and unobstructed, Like the calm of the desert let us spread everywhere, Then in this desert let everything else be restricted, Because I want it to be your representation everywhere, Like an oasis oozing from the bosom of the desert, Like the mirage of water to a thirsty desert wanderer on a hot day, Let your love just one feeling assert, That like an oasis you will flow through me everyday, Like the beautiful desert rose, Like the endless desert, Let your feelings of love within me repose, As I slowly, but surely into your devout disciple convert, Like it first my love, before you begin to love it, Like the desert rose then let me love you, And finally as I, my soul to you shall submit, Let me see the desert, the oasis and the desert rose, and eternity in you!
Javid Ahmad Tak (They Loved in 2075!)
A collection of facts is as far from forming a body of knowledge as a mirage in the desert is from being a real oasis.
Malba Tahan (The Man Who Counted: A Collection of Mathematical Adventures)