Ominous Inspirational Quotes

Each of us has the right and the responsibility to assess the roads which lie ahead, and those over which we have traveled, and if the future road looms ominous or unpromising, and the roads back uninviting, then we need to gather our resolve and, carrying only the necessary baggage, step off that road into another direction. If the new choice is also unpalatable, without embarrassment, we must be ready to change that as well.

The assault on our constitutional order was inspired by people wearing suits and ties and cloaked in the genteel language of congressional debate, but their purpose was no less ominous. We can fortify the defenses of the Capitol. We can reinforce the doors and put up fences. But we cannot guard our democracy against those who walk the halls of Congress, have taken an oath to uphold our Constitution, but refuse to do so.

What he doesn't realize is that his sanity is swaying like a tightrope walker over a dangerous sea of madness and his rationality is dissolving, just as an ominous thought emerges from beyond and moves stealthily through his mind: nibble, nibble like a mouse; tomorrow everyone will die.

More ominous the night, more spectacular the daybreak.

The flower-covered grave of the saint in the inner room could be seen dimly through the narrow doorway. In front of it was a wide vestibule where about two dozen people were seated in a circle. One of them was singing lustily some Persian verses, while others kept the time by clapping their hands; they joined in the refrain which was sung in chorus. Like rising tidal waves, the tempo of the singing was getting faster and faster, the clapping became more frantic and heads rolled from side to side, keeping time with the tempestuous melody. Eyes were closed and everyone was lost in the surging waves of emotion that seemed to flow out of the Sufistic poetry of the great Roomi. Then, to his amazement Anwar saw a man in the centre of the crowd open his eyes and stare vacantly. For a moment this man was silent, ominously silent and motionless in the midst of the emotional storm that raged around him. Then he was caught by a sudden frenzy, his whole body quivered and moved, beating time to the song which by now had reached a weird and frightening crescendo, faster and faster, louder and louder. The man's hands rose high in the air and as if clutching at an unseen rope, he raised himself and started to dance, wildly, ecstatically, tearing his clothes and pulling his hair, completely unselfconscious and unrestrained, oblivious of everything by some mysterious inner urge that demanded expression in this wild manner. And then the song died on the lips of the singer, the waves of emotion receded and in the ghostly silence that descended upon the assembly the standing figure of the man in the centre which looked inspired and hallowed a moment ago, suddenly appeared ridiculous and grotesque. For a few moments he stood as if poised for another outburst of frenzy. Then, deprived of the emotional support of the song, his knees sagged and he collapsed to the ground. For several minutes Anwar was speechless; so great had the effect of this spectacle been on him. His pulse beat faster, his mind was in a whirl and, as the song stopped, he felt a gnawing emptiness in his bowels. This then was Qawwali, the ecastatic ritual of the Persian Sufis.

Toward an Organic Philosophy SPRING, COAST RANGE The glow of my campfire is dark red and flameless, The circle of white ash widens around it. I get up and walk off in the moonlight and each time I look back the red is deeper and the light smaller. Scorpio rises late with Mars caught in his claw; The moon has come before them, the light Like a choir of children in the young laurel trees. It is April; the shad, the hot headed fish, Climbs the rivers; there is trillium in the damp canyons; The foetid adder’s tongue lolls by the waterfall. There was a farm at this campsite once, it is almost gone now. There were sheep here after the farm, and fire Long ago burned the redwoods out of the gulch, The Douglas fir off the ridge; today the soil Is stony and incoherent, the small stones lie flat And plate the surface like scales. Twenty years ago the spreading gully Toppled the big oak over onto the house. Now there is nothing left but the foundations Hidden in poison oak, and above on the ridge, Six lonely, ominous fenceposts; The redwood beams of the barn make a footbridge Over the deep waterless creek bed; The hills are covered with wild oats Dry and white by midsummer. I walk in the random survivals of the orchard. In a patch of moonlight a mole Shakes his tunnel like an angry vein; Orion walks waist deep in the fog coming in from the ocean; Leo crouches under the zenith. There are tiny hard fruits already on the plum trees. The purity of the apple blossoms is incredible. As the wind dies down their fragrance Clusters around them like thick smoke. All the day they roared with bees, in the moonlight They are silent and immaculate. SPRING, SIERRA NEVADA Once more golden Scorpio glows over the col Above Deadman Canyon, orderly and brilliant, Like an inspiration in the brain of Archimedes. I have seen its light over the warm sea, Over the coconut beaches, phosphorescent and pulsing; And the living light in the water Shivering away from the swimming hand, Creeping against the lips, filling the floating hair. Here where the glaciers have been and the snow stays late, The stone is clean as light, the light steady as stone. The relationship of stone, ice and stars is systematic and enduring: Novelty emerges after centuries, a rock spalls from the cliffs, The glacier contracts and turns grayer, The stream cuts new sinuosities in the meadow, The sun moves through space and the earth with it, The stars change places. The snow has lasted longer this year, Than anyone can remember. The lowest meadow is a lake, The next two are snowfields, the pass is covered with snow, Only the steepest rocks are bare. Between the pass And the last meadow the snowfield gapes for a hundred feet, In a narrow blue chasm through which a waterfall drops, Spangled with sunset at the top, black and muscular Where it disappears again in the snow. The world is filled with hidden running water That pounds in the ears like ether; The granite needles rise from the snow, pale as steel; Above the copper mine the cliff is blood red, The white snow breaks at the edge of it; The sky comes close to my eyes like the blue eyes Of someone kissed in sleep. I descend to camp, To the young, sticky, wrinkled aspen leaves, To the first violets and wild cyclamen, And cook supper in the blue twilight. All night deer pass over the snow on sharp hooves, In the darkness their cold muzzles find the new grass At the edge of the snow.

For the young Turks, soon to assume power and build a nation-state on the ruins of the Ottoman Empire, Japan provided clear inspiration. These envious outside observers of Japan’s progress did not see the extreme violence of the country’s makeover. Nor did they notice the trends towards conformity, militarism and racism that were later to make Japan a ominously successful rival to Europe’s imperialist nations- by 1942, Japan would occupy or dominate a broad swathe of the Asian mainland, from the Aleutian Islands in the north-east to the borders of India, after booting out almost all the European masters in between. For many Asians in the late nineteenth century, the proof of Japan’s success lay in the extent to which it could demand equality with the West; and, here, the evidence was simply overwhelming for people who had tried to do the same and had failed miserably.

Faith,” writes Hitler, is harder to shake than knowledge, love succumbs less to change than respect, hate is more enduring than aversion, and the impetus to the mightiest upheavals on this earth has at all times consisted less in a scientific knowledge dominating the masses than in a fanaticism which inspired them and sometimes in a hysteria which drove them forward.12

It is obvious, therefore, why Nazi (and Fascist) leaders insist on faith from their followers. “Faith,” writes Hitler, is harder to shake than knowledge, love succumbs less to change than respect, hate is more enduring than aversion, and the impetus to the mightiest upheavals on this earth has at all times consisted less in a scientific knowledge dominating the masses than in a fanaticism which inspired them and sometimes in a hysteria which drove them forward.12

I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework," said Ron. "Don't be silly, of course there is!" said Hermione, and Harry saw, with an ominous feeling, that her face was suddenly alight with the kind of fervor that S.P.E.W. usually inspired in her.

Outlandish feelings Outlandish worlds exist within us all, Because there are stars that rise and then they fall, Stars that belonged to a different world and now here in an alien world they are, Alienated from their native skies to be cast into worlds astoundingly too far, And in this outlandishness of rising feelings and many a belief, The mind with the heart seeks familiar trails of relief, But both lie mired in their unwillingness to accept forced retirement, Because loving her thoughts, believing in her brings wavers of excitement, That condition the mind to seek the heart that felt and knew her so well, In this outlandish emotional landscape where fate launches its ominous spell, To never let the mind find the heart that easily fell for her charms, Trapping the mind in new emotional storms, Where life is turned into this falling star, That gets thrown into a world of alien sentiments and a new emotional spar, Between the mind that seeks those known feelings and the heart that knew her so well, And deals with the hostile world of emotions where nothing feels like her and nothing bears her smell, And it is in these outlandish territories of life that few of us seek a domicile existence, Even if that means indulging in pretense and experience a few artificial moments of romance, Whatever the case maybe, the romantic mind always seeks the romantic heart, In these unknown landscapes where the fakeness of the alien feelings every sense does so easily outsmart, Until the mind learns to calm itself with the hope that fallen stars rise and shine again, And it forms a covenant of survival with the diabolic and ruthlessly crude spells of pain. And then life continues to wander in all directions seeking the heart that knew her, Until one day it resembles the life that hangs on the devil’s spur! But the aging mind is still rigid and unwilling to believe in the deceptive landscapes of this outlandish territory, Because it remembers all the heart beats of love and still believes in their fraternity, Finally one day the mind rises once again above the feelings of alienation, Because few minds believe in endlessly seeking her sequestered feelings of love with a God like determination!

people stuck halfway between the five- and six-sensory worlds have the urge to share their intuitive insights, but they hesitate because they often don’t know how to explain their experiences. They might say, “I had a weird feeling,” “Something bizarre happened,” or “I have this odd sensation.” They use negative terms that water down their vibes or even give them an ominous spin. I give them an A for effort; however, if you want to comfortably use your vibes, you’ll have to do better than that. Your intuition is gold, so it should be gathered with appreciation, then described positively and shared enthusiastically rather than with negative qualifiers. For example, try saying, “I just had a terrific inspiration,” “I just had an incredible feeling that . . . ,” or “My inner genius tells me . . . ,” and see what response you get back from others and from your spirit. In my experience, the more I positively express my intuition, the more it rewards me with even more wisdom, so I get a double bonus.