Plumbing Inspirational Quotes

...you have to laugh at the things that hurt you just to keep the world from running you plumb crazy

To cease to wonder is to fall plumb-down from the childlike to the commonplace—the most undivine of all moods intellectual. Our nature can never be at home among things that are not wonderful to us.

‎Maeniel felt this was why all the great sages never wrote anything down. In the final analysis, scriptures are futile things, dependent as they are on the intentions of the interpreter. All too often too literal a mind can lead human students into strange follies. Sometimes it is better to allow the searchers to try to plumb the depths of the great mystery on their own and accept that not every one of those taking the road will see the same end.

Most people think a beautiful woman doesn’t have to work as hard to get what she wants. And that might be true when she’s at a bar trying to get a drink, or when she’s in Home Depot trying to find someone to help her down the plumbing aisle. But it’s not true in the workplace. A beautiful woman often has to work twice as hard to be seen for who she is here. Because, unfortunately, there are still men out there who can’t see past beauty.

Who among us has not suddenly looked into his child's face, in the midst of the toils and troubles of everyday life, and at that moment "seen" that everything which is good, is loved and lovable, loved by God! Such certainties all mean, at bottom, one and the same thing: that the world is plumb and sound; that everything comes to its appointed goal; that in spite of all appearances, underlying all things is - peace, salvation, gloria; that nothing and no one is lost; that "God holds in his hand the beginning, middle, and end of all that is." Such nonrational, intuitive certainties of the divine base of all that is can be vouchsafed to our gaze even when it is turned toward the most insignificant-looking things, if only it is a gaze inspired by love. That, in the precise sense, is contemplation... Out of this kind of contemplation of the created world arise in never-ending wealth all true poetry and all real art, for it is the nature of poetry and art to be paean and praise heard above all the wails of lamentation. No one who is not capable of such contemplation can grasp poetry in a poetic fashion, that is to say, in the only meaningful fashion. The indispensability, the vital function of the arts in man's life, consists above all in this: that through them contemplation of the created world is kept alive and active.

It's said that there's three sides to a story: yours, mine, and the truth. Check out God in Wingtip Shoes and The Prison Plumb Line to explore all three.

I saw a white toilet, with no plumbing, alone in a field of snow. Well, almost alone. There were two naked albinos and a polar bear sitting on it, and I felt inspired to write a love poem.

However cruelly fate treats people, however miserable life can be, there are those who will accept the challenge to plumb the depths of that misery to find the essence of what really lies deep inside themselves.

In the Perfect, would familiarity ever destroy wondrr at things essentially wonderful because essentially divine? To cease to wonder is to fall plumb-down from the childlike to the commonplace - the most undivine of all the moods intellectual. Our nature can never be at home among things that are not wonderful to us.

In the Perfect, would familiarity ever destroy wonder at things essentially wonderful because essentially divine? To cease to wonder is to fall plumb-down from the childlike to the commonplace - the most undivine of all the moods intellectual. Our nature can never be at home among things that are not wonderful to us.

WHAT DADDY WOULD HAVE DONE First he would have listened intently which one could always tell by the rhythmic shift and angle of the way he held his head. Then he would have gently spoken assuring me that all would eventually be well. Next he would tell me to bow with him in faith to obtain guidance and strength for my way. Finally, he would have made a few calls to some of the many folks he knew to see what they would say or do. In the end, he would complete a follow-up with me. He would stay abreast of the situation and through his participation I would glean the most useful updates. But, just a few years ago, he had to go away Now each time I have a problem, I remember how he handled things ‘back in the day’. This is when the realization hits me like a ton of bricks on the run—for I’m plumb on my own. But, though he’s now long gone, my past experience knows and stands to say what my Daddy would have done. I tell you, Daddy would have said… Daddy would have done…Well, now I think we all know what Daddy would have said and done…

From the ashes of failure, sorrow, hardship, and loss, the most exquisite souls arise, their journey marked by empathy and humility. Those who have plumbed the depths of despair and emerged, transformed, possess an ineffable beauty of spirit that cannot be denied. They, tempered by adversity, radiate empathy, humility, and a profound reverence for life, serving as beacons of inspiration to all who behold them. Remember, dear ones, the most exquisite spirits are not born of idyllic circumstances but are forged in the crucible of life's trials.

We live a life bounded by the perception of the self. Existence entails tabulating our personal contact with reality and plumbing the substance of the self. The loftiest task of all is to dream a worthy life and then go live it without fearing the unknown. It is wonderful to live; we must cherish our time by loving other people and adoring nature. We find ourselves through trial and error. We must not allow failure, pain, disappointment, heartache, or sour feelings to daunt us because each of these emotional indexes interprets our dream world intermixing with reality.

Fallen trees were everywhere and we had to avoid the branches, which was powerful hard to do. Besides, it was quite dusky among the trees long before night, but it was all so grand and awe-inspiring. Occasionally there was an opening through which we could see the snowy peaks, seemingly just beyond us, toward which we were headed.But when you get among such grandeur you get to feel how little you are and how foolish is human endeavor, except that which reunites us with the mighty force called god. I was plumb uncomfortable, because all my own efforts have always been just to make the best of everything and to take things as they come.

We want our faith to be “perfect and complete.” But who wants to go through trials to make it happen? The problem is, perseverance doesn’t come from listening to a sermon. There is no inspirational bestseller we can read that will help us plumb the depths of our faith. We don’t become perfect and complete by sitting in church. We learn who he really is during the most desperate part of our trials. It’s about meeting God where and when we need him most. Sure, our faith grows through reading Scripture and praying, but just as we don’t know the strength of our body until we test it in a physical challenge, our faith isn’t perfected until it’s been tested in a spiritual challenge.

Nature works on an entirely different principle. Its mandate for survival is to use the least amount of material and energy to get the job done-the job being to survive and re-create itself without damaging its foundational ecosystem. It doesn't stamp out flat plates; it doesn't create straight lines. For example, the ultraefficient human cardiovascular system has sixty thousand miles of plumbing, yet there's not a straight pipe inside. However, it is beyond compare when it comes to energy efficiency. How many machines can drive anything sixty thousand miles on on-and-a-half watts of power? That's less than the power consumed by many bedroom night-lights.

There’s no other way but work, work and work. Read widely, live wildly, plumb the depths of your­self, turn your­self inside out until you find your voice

The fern looks to be dead, as near as me. Plumb dead and shriveled up like there’s not a hope in the world. But somehow, some way, the rain will come, and it’ll spring to life again.

Beware the terror of not producing. Beware the urge to justify your decision. Watch out for the kitchen sink and the plumbing and the painting that always needed being done. But remember the body needs to create too. Beware feeling you're not good enough to deserve it. Beware feeling you're too good to need it. Beware all the hatred you've stored up inside you, and the locks on your tender places.

eastern Massachusetts alone, I came across almost more than I could visit. I spent a couple mornings with the founders and members of Beacon Hill Villages, a kind of community cooperative in several neighborhoods of Boston dedicated to organizing affordable services—everything from plumbing repair to laundry—in order to help the elderly stay in their homes. I talked to people running assisted living homes who, against every obstacle, had stuck with the fundamental ideas Keren Wilson had planted. I’ve never encountered people more determined, more imaginative, and more inspiring. It depresses me to imagine how differently Alice Hobson’s last years would have been if she’d been able to meet one of them—if she’d had a NewBridge, an Eden Alternative, a Peter Sanborn Place, or somewhere like them to turn to. With any of them, Alice would have had the chance to continue to be who she was despite her creeping infirmities—“to really live,” as she would have put it.

Once again the Scriptures are a lodestar, a benchmark, the plumb line steadies us and steers us clear of what is happening in the world and gives us a glimpse of history and politics, economics and daily experiences from God's point of view. Going back to this mother lode of wisdom and knowledge, inspired by God, brings grace and further insight not found in other devotional materials.

And to say that the citizens of those rival domains did not always see eye to eye was a bit of an understatement, because each represented the antithesis of the other’s deepest values. To the engineers and the technicians who belonged to the world of the dam, Glen was no dead monolith but, rather, a living and breathing thing, a creature that pulsed with energy and dynamism. Perhaps even more important, the dam was also a triumphant capstone of human ingenuity, the culmination of a civil-engineering lineage that had seen its first florescence in the irrigation canals of ancient Mesopotamia and China, then shot like a bold arrow through the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, and the Industrial Revolution to reach its zenith here in the sun-scorched wastelands of the American Southwest. Glen embodied the glittering inspiration and the tenacious drive of the American century—a spirit that in other contexts had been responsible for harnessing the atom and putting men on the moon. As impressive as those other accomplishments may have been, nothing excelled the nobility of transforming one of the harshest deserts on earth into a vibrant garden. In the minds of its engineers and its managers, Glen affirmed everything that was right about America. To Kenton Grua and the river folk who inhabited the world of the canyon, however, the dam was an offense against nature. Thanks to Glen and a host of similar Reclamation projects along the Colorado, one of the greatest rivers in the West, had been reduced to little more than a giant plumbing system, a network of pipes and faucets and catchment tubs whose chief purpose lay in the dubious goal of bringing golf courses to Phoenix, swimming pools to Tucson, and air-conditioned shopping malls to Vegas. A magnificent waterway had been sacrificed on the altar of a technology that enabled people to prosper without limits, without balance, without any connection to the environment in which they lived—and in the process, fostered the delusion that the desert had been conquered. But in the eyes of the river folk, even that wasn’t the real cost. To

In the summertime, when it got unbearably hot, we were taught to spit on each other out of courtesy.