Phoenix Rebirth Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Phoenix Rebirth. Here they are! All 40 of them:

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The phoenix must burn to emerge.
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Janet Fitch (White Oleander)
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Wise is the one who flavors the future with some salt from the past. Becoming dust is no threat to the phoenix born from the ash.
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Curtis Tyrone Jones
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The Phoenix burns and rebirths from the ashes in the absence of need for witness, acceptance, understanding or belief.
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Truth Devour (Unrequited (Wantin #2))
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Yes, You will rise from the ashes, But the burning comes first. For this part, Darling, You must be brave.
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Kalen Dion
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Who needs to be a Phoenix for rebirth? One simply requires themselves and an instrument to clean the slate and start over, perhaps create their own world where everything is better..
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TheBakaViolinist
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Harmony would only come with destruction.
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Shannon A. Thompson (Death Before Daylight (Timely Death, #3))
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He was a phoenix of blood, rising from the ashes of those who had fallen and suffered before him.
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Nenia Campbell (Black Beast (Shadow Thane, #1))
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It has been said that life only gives us what we can handle. But this is not the case. Life often kills us, that's the truth. But that's how phoenixes are born.
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C. JoyBell C.
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I am broken beyond repair. There is no going back to the person I was before. There is rebirth, rebuilding, reinventing, and soul stitching with gold that needs to happen.
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Najwa Zebian (Sparks of Phoenix)
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Phoenix Speaks: Within this urn of stillness I slumber in deep sleep Awaiting brave Helios to warm my gentle ashes Igniting the flame within my soul once again I fly to the heavens
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Ramon William Ravenswood (Icons Speak)
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Bird of the sky still bound to the earth, soaring to unimaginable heights yet returning to perch in the willow. Death is near, always near and so...is life even in the ashes. Rise Up Phoenix. Live. Fly. Create!
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Runa Heilung
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Sometimes what’s dead must be burned away to make room for new life. Sometimes you just have to step back and let the brittle bits ignite - but once those flames begin to dance their caustic dance, don’t you dare look the other way. Don’t close your eyes. Watch closely and let that image seer itself forever on your mind. Remember what it looked like in the midst of the soot, the smoke, and the haze. Remember, so you don’t repeat the same conditions that required such a blaze.
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Cristen Rodgers
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Be more than symbol, strength, and dream. / Be light! Inspire! Revive! / Redeem! (from Phoenix: Salvation)
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Robert J. Tiess (The Humbling and Other Poems)
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After a thousand years pass, it builds its own funeral pyre, lining it with cinnamon, myrrh and cassia. Climbing to a rest on the very top, it examines the world all throughout the night with the ability to see true good and evil. When the sun rises the next morning, with great sorrow for all that it sees, it sings a haunting song. As it sings, the heat of the sun ignites the expensive spices and the Phoenix dies in the flames. But the Phoenix is not remarkable for its feathers or flames. It is most revered for its ability to climb from its own funeral pyre, from the very ashes of its old charred body, as a brand new life ready to live again once more. Life after life, it goes through this cycle. It absorbs human sorrow, only to rise from death to do it all again. It never wearies, it never tires. It never questions its fate. Some say that the Phoenix is real, that it exists somewhere out there in the mountains of Arabia, elusive and mysterious. Others say that the Phoenix is only a wish made by desperate humans to believe in the continuance of life. But I know a secret. We are the Phoenix.
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Courtney Cole (Every Last Kiss (The Bloodstone Saga, #1))
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Here you are. Still standing. Fierce with the reality of love and loss. Wearing the truth of our hearts on your tattered sleeves. And yes, this one very nearly took you out. And yes, there were days when the darkness was heavy and the climb out of that rabbit hole required you to mine your depths for strength you didn’t even know you had. But here you are. Broken open by hope. Cracked wide by loss. Full of longing and grief and the burn of that phoenix fire. Warrior painted with ashes. Embers from the blaze still clinging to your newborn skin, leaving you forever marked with scars of rebirth. And just look at you. Heart broken but still beating. Arms empty but still open. Face raised to the sky and giving thanks for the light, even when it hurts your eyes. My god, you are beautiful.
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Jeanette LeBlanc
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(Excerpt from) Everlasting: You can't touch hope But you can feel her Through the breath of angels And in the faces of those with hope etched in their eyes The ones that give you something to believe in once more Remember to cherish hope’s rays and her warmth As she rises through the fire As a phoenix reborn For hope springs eternal Like the shape of the rising sun And the pools of cascading gold From heavens-high As a new dawn wakes to come
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Christine Evangelou (Beating Hearts and Butterflies: Poetry of Wounds, Wishes and Wisdom)
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Like the Phoenix, we can observe in our own lives that disintegration brings with it transformation and rebirth.
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Donna Labermeier
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phoenix- your back to the mirror- you are the most immortal death
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BΓ€noo Zan (Songs of Exile (235) (Essential Poets series))
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We rise and our wings are flame. We rise and our food is air. We rise and we are heat and we are light, and we are dark and we are bright, and we lick the wind with our thousand fiery tongues. We rise from the wizard-nation's wreck.
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Amal El-Mohtar (The Djinn Falls in Love & Other Stories)
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When it happens and it hits hard, we decide certain things, and realize there's truth in all those dark, lonely days" He had an instantaneous look about him, a glimmer and a glint over those eyes, he knew how the world worked, and took pleasure in its wickedness. He would give a dime or two to those sitting on the street, he would tell them things like: "It won't get any better," and "Might as well use this to buy your next fix," and finally "It's better to die high than to live sober," His suit was pressed nicely, with care and respect, like the kind a corpse wears, he'd say that was his way of honoring the dead, of always being ready for the oncoming train, I liked him, he never wore a fake smile and he was always ready to tell a story about how and when "We all wake up alone," he said once, "Oftentimes even when sleeping next to someone, we wake up before them and they are still asleep and suddenly we are awake, and alone." I didn't see him for a few days, a few days later it felt like it'd been weeks, those weeks drifted apart from one another, like leaves on a pond's surface, and became like months. And then I saw him and I asked him where he'd been, he said, "I woke up alone one day, just like any other, and I decided I didn't like it anymore.
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Dave Matthes (Ejaculation: New Poems and Stories)
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Scorpio women, learn to embrace your intense and passionate nature. You are meant to feel more profoundly than the average person. You are the epitome of transformation, death, and rebirth. Rising from the ashes and exerting the divine energy of the Phoenix. You are powerful.
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Robin S. Baker
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Child of shadows, once born of flesh Un-winged, amidst fear and agony β€˜Fraid of the lurking and yet to come Oblivious, to the code of chivalry. Voids in his desire were unveiled, as Love taught him; death with dignity. In desire to be and in wanting to live His wretched soul began to purge, As he wept at the beauty of night He commenced to sing his own dirge, Then born again of fire; ascended, Like Phoenix must burn to emerge.
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Zubair Ahsan
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The only creature able to evade death temporarily is the elusive phoenix. Although this particular being lives a natural life span, it cannot be killed through unnatural means. Any attempts to destroy it will only result in the phoenix rebirthing in fire. While able to produce progeny, it should be noted that the magicks of a phoenix are unique. There can only ever be one phoenix in existence at any one time.
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Helen Harper (Infernal Enchantment (Firebrand, #2))
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birch – hope butterflies – change, transformation, inner growth cypress – mourning daisies – innocence, purity dragonflies – ancestors fireflies – life, sexuality hummingbirds – hope and beauty, the sun in disguise, infinity in the flight of their wings phoenix – rebirth poppies – remembrance raven – in some cultures death, in some cultures a bringer of light associated with Creation rose (red) – romantic love rose (yellow) – friendship sage – powerful cleansing sweetgrass – a grandmother medicine sycamore – hidden treasure
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Cynthia Sharp (How to Write Poetry: A Resource for Students and Teachers of Creative Writing)
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Hurricane Katrina arrived without a confirmed weather category, or a name that adequately addressed anger summoned from a thousand leagues down. When the levees broke in New Orleans images escaped television screens to tattoo every skin with the shameful reality that America’s towers fell twice. There was no phoenix. Only mosquitoes escaped the ashes, promising to puncture any still unbloodied with the needle kiss of plague. Then, a great swarm of dragonflies, sent by some other to even the odds. They feasted on the thin-limbed vampires, devoured body and virus, and then hovered around the floating bloated bodies of forgotten grandmothers, armored escorts of the dead. Their wings hummed swamp sonnets while their mouths swallowed maggots, thwarting attempts to hurry death beyond spring sunsets and autumn graves. They kept up their holy procession until New Orleans rebirthed jazz and cut the bodies loose and let saints march in all over again. As I steer my bike through one puddle after the other, making the street music urban rainforest dwellers know, I ask the splash to summon the dragonfly. Call her from the swamp into my throat to name the lump that will never loose me. Be my escort, gobble the flies ever entering me before their children become my whole.
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Amanda Sledz (Psychopomp Volume One: Cracked Plate)
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Phoenix." Tezuka's unfinished masterpiece. "Phoenix" is the Christ of manga's ode to change... Resurrection... Since I am such a noted manga scholar, you might think my life has always been a roaring success... But the truth is that I'm forever attempting to be reborn out of the flames of my own misery and painfully obvious worthlessness.
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Dash Shaw (Cosplayers 2: Tezukon)
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My father liked to wonder aloud whether the phoenix was re-created by the fire of its funeral pyre or transformed so that what emerged was a soulless shadow of its former being, identical in appearance but without the joy in life its predecessor had had. He wondered alternatively whether the fire might be purificatory, a redemptive, rejuvenating blaze that destroyed the withered shell of the old phoenix and allowed the creature’s essence to emerge stronger than it was before in a young, new body. Or, he would ask, was the fire a manifestation of entropy, slowly sapping the life-energy of the phoenix over the eons, a little death in a life that could know no beginning and no end but which could nonetheless be subject to an ever-decreasing magnitude? He asked me once if I thought the fires in our lives, the traumas, increased our fulfillment by setting up contrasts that illuminated more clearly our everyday joys; or perhaps I viewed them instead as tests that made us stronger by teaching us to endure; or did I believe, rather, that they simply amplified what we already were, in the end making the strong stronger, the weak weaker, and the dangerous deadly?
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Mohsin Hamid (Moth Smoke)
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Indian thought has traditionally regarded history and prehistory in cyclical rather than linear terms. In the West time is an arrow -- we are born, we live, we die. But in India we die only to be reborn. Indeed, it is a deeply rooted idea in Indian spiritual traditions that the earth itself and all living creatures upon it are locked into an immense cosmic cycle of birth, growth, fruition, death, rebirth and renewal. Even temples are reborn after they grow too old to be used safely -- through the simple expedient of reconstruction on the same site. Within this pattern of spiralling cycles, where everything that goes around comes around, India conceives of four great epochs of 'world ages' of varying but enormous lengths: the Krita Yuga, the Treta Yuga, the Davapara Yuga and the Kali Yuga. At the end of each yuga a cataclysm, known as pralaya, engulfs the globe in fire or flood. Then from the ruins of the former age, like the Phoenix emerging from the ashes, the new age begins.
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Graham Hancock (Underworld: The Mysterious Origins of Civilization)
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The Cliffs Of Consolation by Stewart Stafford Don't fall meekly off Life's precipice, With Death stamping on weak fingers, Cling on, scream, fight the inevitable, For gravity’s jury's karmic reprieve. Souls crash in the surf beneath, The perennial tide of plankton orbs, In effervescent flows above the bluff, Doves flying back when the flood's over. If beyond salvation, down you plunge, Assuage yourself with lifetime efforts, All is pardoned, wiped clean in death, A phoenix risen from bodily constraints. Β© Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.
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Stewart Stafford
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Old friend, I am writing to you again The infamous tale of squandered love To have my denial broken by myself To have accepted past for my behove To have grown into a man of honor To have embraced the code of chivalry To have been reborn as a bird of myth To have caught lies in nightly reverie Lost myself in this chronic transition I regret the love wasted, in-between Who knew life can just be happy or full If only the great men ere had foreseen As humbled as I have become due this I’m failing to see the point of these rhymes So old friend, do tell me what is better Death, endured once or a zillion times?
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Zubair Ahsan
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Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. Harry stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, making its gagging noise again. Harry thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and, even as Harry watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail. Harry was just thinking that all he needed was for Dumbledore's pet bird to die while he was alone in the office with it, when the bird burst into flames. Harry yelled in shock and backed away into the desk. He looked feverishly around in case there was a glass of water somewhere but couldn't see one; the bird, meanwhile, had become a fireball; it gave one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smoldering pile of ash on the floor. The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very somber. "Professor," Harry gasped. "Your bird- I couldn't do anything- he just caught fire-" To Harry's astonishment, Dumbledore smiled. "About time, too," he said. "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on." He chuckled at the stunned look on Harry's face. "Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him..." Harry looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one. "It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day," said Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk. "He's really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets.
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J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Harry Potter, #2))
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Mad cow disease? A crazy hunger for blood. There had to be a reasonable explanation for all of this. And there's no such thing as vampires, right?
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Alisha Costanzo (Blood Phoenix: Rebirth (Broken World))
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You can't live centuries untouched, unmarked, invincible, and expect the Rebirth to be peaceful.
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J.P. Cianci (The Last Tears of a Phoenix)
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This estate is called a Phoenix. It's not a municipal venture, it's a social rebirth, a statement of a sincere belief that decent conditions make a decent community, and I'm
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Margery Allingham (The China Governess (Albert Campion #17))
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The Phoenix is a mythical creature from Greek lore often portrayed as a fiery and noble bird. It is said the Phoenix could live thousands of years before succumbing to death, and typically it died and was reborn through fire. The sentiment is not uncommon. The idea of a second chance, of rebirth, of renewing one’s hopes and dreams. One could say it is our destiny, our fate within the human condition to always hold onto hope of redemption even if it is the last thread that connects us to life.
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Joe Hart (The Last Girl (The Dominion Trilogy, #1))
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Each time he holds my Heart, I die a thousand deaths; and each time he seizes my Mind, my Soul recreates a new me; and each time I rise out of the ashes like the Sacred Phoenix, I am experiencing a Rebirth and a Transformation." -Shireen Violett
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Shireen Violett
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But what he did know was that sadness hit them particularly hard, especially sadness as it related to death. It made sense: phoenixes we’re immortal if not slain and could resurrect if they chose. For them, death was a distant, unknowable thing, and when they did encounter it . . . they did not bounce back as easily.
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Nicki Pau Preto (Heart of Flames (Crown of Feathers, #2))
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Death is now the Phoenix' nest
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William Shakespeare
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The kingdom of poetry" This is like light. This is light, Useful as light, as charming And enchanting… …Poetry is certainly More interesting, more valuable, and certainly more charming Than Niagara Falls, the Grand Canyon, the Atlantic Ocean And other much admired natural phenomena. It is useful as light, and as beautiful It is preposterous Precisely, making it possible to say One cannot carry a mountain, but a poem can be carried all over. It is monstrous. Pleasantly, for poetry can say, seriously or in play: β€œPoetry is better than hope, β€œFor poetry is patience of hope, and all hope’s vivid pictures, β€œPoetry is better than excitement, it is far more delightful, β€œPoetry is superior to success, and victory, it endures in serene blessedness β€œLong after the most fabulous feat like fireworks has mounted and fallen. β€œPoetry is far more powerful and far more enchanting animal β€œThan any wood, jungle, ark, circus or zoo possesses.” For poetry magnifies and heighten reality: Poetry says of reality that if it is magnificent, it is also stupid: For poetry is, in a way, omnipotent; For reality is various and rich, powerful and vivid, but it is not enough Because it is disorderly and stupid or only at times, and erratically, intelligent: For without poetry, reality is speechless or incoherent: It is inchoate, like the pomp and the bombast of thunder: Its peroration verge upon the ceaseless oration of the ocean: For reality glows and glory, without poetry, Fake, like the red operas of sunset The blue rivers and the windows of morning. The arts of poetry makes it possible to say: Pandemonium. For poetry is gay and exact. It says: β€œThe sunset resembles a bull-fight. β€œA sleeping arm feels like soda, fizzing.” Poetry resurrect the past from the sepulchre, like Lazarus. It transforms a lion into a sphinx and a girl. It gives a girl the splendor of Latin. It transforms the water into wine at each marriage in Cana of Galilee. For it is true that poetry invented the unicorn, the centaur and the phoenix. Hence it is true that poetry is an everlasting Ark. An omnibus containing, bearing and begetting all the mind’s animals. Whence it is that poetry gave and gives tongue to forgiveness Therefore a history of poetry would be a history of joy, and a history of the mystery of love For poetry provides spontaneously, abundantly and freely The petnames and the diminutives which love requires and without which the mystery of love cannot be mastered. For poetry is like light, and it is light. It shines over all, like the blue sky, with the same blue justice. For poetry is the sunlight of consciousness: It is also the soil of the fruits of knowledge In the orchards of being: It shows us the pleasures of the city. It lights up the structures of reality. It is a cause of knowledge and laughter: It sharpens the whistles of the witty: It is like morning and the flutes of morning, chanting and enchanted. It is the birth and the rebirth of the first morning forever. Poetry is quick as tigers, clever as cats, vivid as oranges, Nevertheless, it is deathless: it is evergreen and in blossom; long after the Pharaohs and the Caesars have fallen, It shines and endures more than diamonds, It is because poetry is the actuality of possibility, it is The reality of the imagination, The throat of exaltation, The processions of possessions, The motion of meaning and The meaning of morning and The mastery of meaning. The praise of poetry is like the clarity of the heights of the mountains. The heights of poetry are like the exaltation of the mountains. It is the consummation of consciousness in the country of the morning!
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Delmore Schwartz
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Then his attention was caught by the bird of paradise. "So that's what that looks like?" he asked. "Like one of the paper cranes we had to burn after Pearl Harbor." He took a step closer. "That fiery orange blossom - damned if it doesn't look like a phoenix rising from the ashes." Ruth understood, at last, what the crane flower had represented to her mother. It wasn't Hawai'i, as much as she had loved Hawai'i. It wasn't good fortune; and it wasn't longevity. No, not even that. It was rebirth.
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Alan Brennert (Daughter of Moloka'i (Moloka'i, #2))