Rise Like A Phoenix Quotes

We are like the phoenix," said Abuelita. "Rising again, with a new life ahead of us.

If you feel like you don't fit into the world you inherited it is because you were born to help create a new one.

Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul. If either your sails or your rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas. For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction. Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing; And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes.

My heart is burning a hole in my chest and every time you speak to me, it keeps sinking, and I'm left with nothing but ashes. I wish she were talking to me, because the more she speaks to me, the more my heart flutters like a rising phoenix. -Karen Quan and Jarod Kintz

The manic relief that comes from the fantasy that we can with one savage slash cut the chains of the past and rise like a phoenix, free of all history, is generally a tipping point into insanity, akin to believing that we can escape the endless constraints of gravity, and fly off a tall building. “I’m freeeee… SPLAT!”.

Ron and Hermione were still smirking and Harry felt his temper rise; he wasn’t even sure why he was feeling so angry. “Don’t sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn’t I?” he said heatedly. “I know what went on, all right? And I didn’t get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because — because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right — but I just blundered through it all, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing — STOP LAUGHING!

My longtime broken heart was breaking again, shattering, falling to pieces and disintegrating. And in its place was a brand new heart. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

Rising in Triumph, just like the phoenix

When you feel like you have been hit, dig deep and hit back. Rock bottom is not your end; it is your beginning.

Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul. For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction. Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing; And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may livethrough its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes. And since you are a breath in God’s sphere, and a leaf in God’s forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion.

I unbuttoned my white shirt and reknotted it under by breasts. I felt like one of those circus 'quick change' acts – ta-dah, no more Wimpy Wendy, now we have Slinky Phee rising from the ashes.

Wake up wild one! Your mind is a cageless bird waiting to fly to uncharted lands. Like the phoenix, you'll rise again with renewed vigor, clarity, compassion and insight.

Have the courage to rise from the challenges of life like a phoenix from the flames or you'll get lost in the ashes of despair, pain, and regret.

A dark and towering shadow, rising like the phoenix from the ashes...malevolent...omnipotent...The Phantom of the Opera!

Rise and rise again and again like The Phoenix from the ashes; until the lambs have become lions.

Dark night, bright future Like the phoenix from the ashes, I shall rise again

I am a woman The way you perceive me, a reflection you shall see; If you love and admire me, I shall be a gentle breeze, If you downcast me, I shall rise like a phoenix!

The cherries on the ends of our cigarettes burned a bright orange against the surrounding shadows, like the stirring of embers, waiting for the phoenix to rise.

And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may livethrough its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes.

You want me to say that when you grow, finally, all the changes will stop, but they don't. There will be another one, another opportunity to grow, to shed your skin, to rise like a phoenix from the ashes, to break out of your cocoon like a perfect new butterfly.

For no matter how many battles had been won or lost, no matter how many friends and soldiers killed, every battle felt like the first. And I realized that it wasn't the training, nor the pain of seeing friends die, nor the will to win that made the men fight, but their will to survive that made them soldiers.

Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon which your reason and your judgment wage war against your passion and your appetite. Would that I could be the peacemaker in your soul, that I might turn the discord and the rivalry of your elements into oneness and melody. But how shall I, unless you yourselves be also the peacemakers, nay, the lovers of all your elements? Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul. If either your sails or your rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas. For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction. Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing; And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes. I would have you consider your judgment and your appetite even as you would two loved guests in your house. Surely you would not honour one guest above the other; for he who is more mindful of one loses the love and the faith of both. Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace and serenity of distant fields and meadows -- then let your heart say in silence, "God rests in reason." And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky -- then let your heart say in awe, "God moves in passion." And since you are a breath in God's sphere, and a leaf in God's forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion.

We need to rise up from the ashes of this carnage like a Phoenix being reborn and to do so, we need a new leader to guide the people into the light.

The best fiction rises – yes, like a phoenix – out of the ashes of people’s sad, true disasters. We write in order to repeat the past.

As long as I'm between home and the clinic I do all right. But out in the real world, I feel like prey. I slink around and can feel people looking at me. I feel their eyes boring into me. I feel what they're thinking: Watch her, she could go off anytime. But within the walls of my farmhouse, I climb out of the protective shell, my arms slowly rise like a phoenix, and I dance, wail, fly around the room and then collapse, crying, in front of my mirrors. I start to see in the mirror what it is I really look like, instead of what I was trained from the womb to see. I do not write about it. I do not talk about it. I do not know what I am doing. But just like a baby bird, I am blinking once-sealed eyes and unfolding damp wings. I cannot articulate the past. A part of me knows it's there, lurking, just behind what I can acknowledge, but it is not within sight. And I am keeping it that way.

We are like the phoenix,” said Abuelita.

You know telling someone not to worry is like telling the sun not to shine, don’t you?” she prodded. “It’s just going to keep shining anyway, because that’s what it does.

(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

SPRING POEM It is spring, my decision, the earth ferments like rising bread or refuse, we are burning last year's weeds, the smoke flares from the road, the clumped stalks glow like sluggish phoenixes / it wasn't only my fault / birdsongs burst from the feathered pods of their bodies, dandelions whirl their blades upwards, from beneath this decaying board a snake sidewinds, chained hide smelling of reptile sex / the hens roll in the dust, squinting with bliss, frogbodies bloat like bladders, contract, string the pond with living jelly eyes, can I be this ruthless? I plunge my hands and arms into the dirt, swim among stones and cutworms, come up rank as a fox, restless. Nights, while seedlings dig near my head I dream of reconciliations with those I have hurt unbearably, we move still touching over the greening fields, the future wounds folded like seeds in our tender fingers, days I go for vicious walks past the charred roadbed over the bashed stubble admiring the view, avoiding those I have not hurt yet, apocalypse coiled in my tongue, it is spring, I am searching for the word: finished finished so I can begin over again, some year I will take this word too far.

you can’t ever be broken. You are a hero, and even though you might fall to your knees on a bathroom floor under the pressure of it all, you will rise, like a phoenix from the ashes, and you will stay true to the integrity of your calling.

The boy imagined that if he heard someone talking, their voices would sound like a 45 record on 33 speed.

It’s crucial to be able to gather enough inner strength to rise up from the ashes like the Phoenix Bird, when it’s necessary.

On your way to greatness, you will fall, but like a Phoenix rising from the ashes, you too shall rise again.

It is OK not to be OK..It is ok to be tired, angry & sad..Then we reflect & decide to rise like a Phoenix!

He had tried to shed his pain, to rise from the ashes like a drab phoenix with no hope except the cold peace of indifference. Now that events forced him to open himself to the world again, he was swamped by emotion as a novice surfer was overwhelmed by each cresting wave.

Mr. President, it is time for you to give me back my country. You can either continue to make fools of the people who elected a tyrant like you or let the country rise phoenix-like from the ashes.

He had failed. He had failed in every possible way with every possible choice he had ever made. Jack was still crazy. He was alone. And he was in a prison of his own design. The embarrassment and regret were choking him from the inside out, and all of a sudden he was screaming. It started small, but it bubbled bigger every minute. Rising black and ugly through the veins in his feet, up and up, bursting his cells and filling his lungs, encasing itself around his bones and finally spilling from his eyes, tacky like tar. It tumbled from his mouth in a howl of rage so deep it shook his teeth. The hairs rose on the back of his neck. It was a shout of pain so pure and hot, he could have sworn it was burning out his eyes. And then, like a living nightmare, his howl roused the other patients to noisemaking. Like a battle cry. It soared above the symphony of their screams of confusion and fear, the banging on the doors and the weeping. Soared above all. A phoenix that burned and fell to ash before it could set alight the room at the very end of the hall where the dreammaker lived, imprisoned by his visions. Unanchored and unnoticed in the dark.

Manticor in Arabia (The manticors of the montaines Mighte feed them on thy braines.--Skelton.) Thick and scented daisies spread Where with surface dull like lead Arabian pools of slime invite Manticors down from neighbouring height To dip heads, to cool fiery blood In oozy depths of sucking mud. Sing then of ringstraked manticor, Man-visaged tiger who of yore Held whole Arabian waste in fee With raging pride from sea to sea, That every lesser tribe would fly Those armed feet, that hooded eye; Till preying on himself at last Manticor dwindled, sank, was passed By gryphon flocks he did disdain. Ay, wyverns and rude dragons reign In ancient keep of manticor Agreed old foe can rise no more. Only here from lakes of slime Drinks manticor and bides due time: Six times Fowl Phoenix in yon tree Must mount his pyre and burn and be Renewed again, till in such hour As seventh Phoenix flames to power And lifts young feathers, overnice From scented pool of steamy spice Shall manticor his sway restore And rule Arabian plains once more.

She strolled between shelves, looking at titles, smiling as she met old friends - books she had read three times or five times or a dozen. Just a title, or an author's name, would be enough to summon up happy images. Strange creatures like phoenixes and psammeads, moving under smokey London daylight of a hundred years before, in company with groups of bemused children; starships and new worlds and the limitless vistas of interstellar night, outer space challenged but never conquered; princesses in silver and golden dresses, princes and heroes carrying swords like sharpened lines of light, monsters rising out of weedy tarns, wild creatures that talked and tricked one another...

Like the Phoenix I rise from the ashes The challenge of darkness May eclipse My thoughts Stealing positive words From my lips Paralysing me to my fingertips But again I will arise once more Like I've done so many times before As the crests of the wave Leaves its anchor of the shore

In trials of ir'n and silver fain “The dead will rise and walk again “The blesséd few that touch the light “Will aid the war against the night. “But one by one they all will die “Without a cause to rule them by “As Darkness spreads across the land “He'll wield the oceans in his hand. “Five warriors will oppose his reign “And overthrow the Shadow Thane “They come from sides both dark and light “The realm the mortals call “twilight.” “A magus crowned with boughs of fire “Will rise like Phoenix from his pyre “A beast of shadows touched with sight “Will claim a Dark One as her knight “The next, a prophet doomed to fail “Will find her powers to avail “The final: one mere mortal man “Who bears the mark upon his hand “The circle closes round these few “Made sacred by the bonds they hew “But if one fails then so shall all “Bring death to those of Evenfall.

One day, we wake up to the narcissist’s cunning masquerade. We watch their fake mask slip off their face. Everything becomes crystal clear. We see right through their phony disguise. To anyone who’s dealt with the pain and torment of a narcissist, a silver lining is a sign of hope. Hope that someday you can break free from the abuse. Hope to rebuild a better life. Hope to find comfort and peace within. Hope to recover from your trauma. Hope to embrace a brighter future. We can no longer unsee their hideous charade. We accept how lethal a malignant narcissist is. We actively set healthy boundaries. We walk away from hurtful relationships. Like the Phoenix, we rise above the fiery ashes. We stand up, dust ourselves off, and march forward.

THE TREE OF LIFE The sun is rising, And the ether dance at the first sight of his light, As he ascends like a phoenix from the ashes of morality, His luminous rays form the magnificent tree of life. He springs up from the east, Spreading his long arms like branches, Over the horizons of milky meadows and open seas, Extending his wings to embrace all living things. He walks on water and grazes through fields, Pouring his butter like honey to feed the Earth. Towering over all of creation, He who is the lamp of the universe, The power source of all life. And in his truth and light, Everything becomes aroused Like a flower, And everything is given Sight.

She could be a phoenix, rising like that firebird from the ashes of who she had been

We are like the phoenix,” said Abuelita. “Rising again, with a new life ahead of us.

Like a phoenix rising through the fire, my Robbie, my Tesoro rises forward, and I hope and pray that he can take him out.

Though Jade had never seen or heard the ocean, she thought Xifeng's voice might sound like the sea - gentle beneath the wind, but hiding wild, untamed depths below the surface.

Our passions are, in truth, like the phoenix. When the old one burns away, the new one rises out of its ashes at once.

We’d been reborn from the flames, rising from the shadows like... “Phoenixes,” I said, staring at Darcy in complete and utter fascination.

let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing; And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes.

Claim yourself to be your ideal, not as something that you will be in time, but as that which you are in the immediate present. Do this, and your present world of limitations will disintegrate as your new claim rises like the phoenix from its ashes.

I want you to squirm and suffer much, much more. But you must never run away. No matter how much you suffer, you must rise up like the phoenix. At those times, you will become much, much stronger. Right now you feel alone because the ones who usually orbit around you are also lost and in pain. But when you have grown stronger and are able to see the truth, you will understand... that you are never alone. Live the way you want to live, thrust away the fate that torments you. Then you'll be able to laugh at it. You should be able to do that.

The big top deflating symbolized death. The end of another round of shows. The last part of the life of this big top. The same big top would be reborn in another city. It would rise into the air, like the phoenix, but it would never be like this tent, with its backdrop and its smells and its winds.

Black women have always been at the bottom of the human race. In that bottom of a pit, they were abused, misjudged, neglected, and unseen. In the end, there were two options left for them; to diminish and die, or to be strong and rise like a phoenix from the ashes. Today, black women are using their strength to make an imprint of their existence. They are here to conquer the brutal neglect, injustice, hatred, mistreatment, and inequality. Black women are saying: here we are in all our beauty, glory, strength, and assertiveness. See us. Know us. Recognise us. Give us what we're worth. Above all else, respect us.

That night marked an end for me and for my ribbons. Yet it was an ending I badly needed. I needed to be forced to stand on my own two feet, without anything to catch me. I only wish they could have been spared that same journey. But I needed to be cut down to finally rise up on my own like a phoenix from the ashes.

This was always a poetically sad part of every location to him. The big top deflating symbolized death to him. The end of another round of shows. The last part of the life of this big top. The same big top would be reborn in another city. It would rise into the air, like the phoenix, but it would never be like this tent, with its backdrop and its smells and its winds.

Nevertheless statesmen are still greatly exercised by the problem of the international distribution of money. For hundreds of years, the Midas Theory, systematized by Mercantilism, has been the rule followed by governments in taking measures of commercial policy. In spite of Hume, Smith, and Ricardo, it still dominates men's minds more than would be expected. Phoenix-like, it rises again and again from its own ashes.

A moth flying into the flame says with its wingfire, 'Try this.' The wick with its knotted neck broken, tells you the same. A candle as it diminishes explains, 'Gathering more and more is not the way. Burn, become light and heat and help. Melt.' The ocean sits in the sand letting its lap fill with pearls and shells, then empty. A bittersalt taste hums, 'This.' The phoenix gives up on good-and-bad, flies to rest on Mt. Qaf, no more burning and rising from ash. It sends out one message. The rose purifies its face, drops the soft petals, shows its thorn, and points. Wine abandons thousands of famous names, the vintage years and delightful bouquets, to run wild and anonymous through your brain. The flute closes its eyes and gives its lips to Hamza’s emptiness. Everything begs with the silent rocks for you to be flung out like light over this plain, the presence of Shams.

You have yet to glimpse my reign, but it is not a crown you should fear falling to me. I will rain down the stars so you may never dream upon them. I will rain down Phoenixfyre to burn all you build to ash and I will rain down the might of the Ashfyre name to avenge the bloodline you betrayed. You are staring into the face of your deepest fear Malin, for when I am finished with you, - her chest heaved with a promise so final, words that struck like a declaration from the Gods- you will all yield to me.

For this is England, a happy country, a land of miracles, where stones underfoot are nuggets of gold and the brooks flow with claret. The Boleyns' white falcon hangs like a sorry sparrow on a fence, while the Seymour phoenix is rising. Gentlefolk of an ancient breed, foresters, masters of Wolf Hall, the king's new family now rank with the Howards, the Talbots, the Percys and the Courtenays. The Cromwells - father, son and nephew - are of an ancient breed too. Were we not all conceived in Eden? When Adam delved and Eve span/Who was then the gentleman? When the Cromwells stroll out this week, the gentlemen of England get out of their way.

He held me much closer than Carl had. His grip was firm and possessive. It left no doubt in anyone’s mind who I belonged to and that alone sent a thrill through me that I knew was wrong. He imprisoned me in the unwavering chains of his gaze, leaving me powerless to break away while he scrutinized my soul. I wondered what he was looking for. “You came.” The hand on my waist slid over the swell in my spine where it connected to the rise of my backside. His palm flattened against the spot and I was drawn even closer, eliminating what modicum of space there had been between us. My soft frame was cradled seamlessly into the unyielding length of his in all the places that counted, thighs, pelvis, stomach … breasts. I couldn’t even breathe without feeling the skim of my hardened nipples against his chest. I couldn’t move without feeling his cock reaching for me through miles of fabric to prod into my midsection. He was long and hard and I grew wet from that knowledge alone. “Gabriel…” “I couldn’t leave without having this dance with you.” My fingers tightened around his shoulder. “Why?” His quiet exhalation whispered over the curve of my cheeks, smelling of mint and despair. “Because the further away I got from you, the more it felt like if I kept driving, I would lose you for good and that scared me like nothing else.

Like the Internet, environmentalism stretches back a long way, yet many people believe Al Gore invented it. There’s no question that Gore’s slideshow-turned-film documentary, An Inconvenient Truth, gave a huge jumpstart to the global warming … sorry, “climate change” … wait, sorry, “climate disruption” … no, hold on, “climate chaos” movement. (If the science is settled, why do they have to keep changing its name?) I won’t bother recounting all the challenges to Gore’s claims, as many others have already done so; or the widely noted disparities between the Spartan existence Gore prescribes for the rest of humanity and his own opulent, jet-set lifestyle. I’ll just point out what I consider the most damning fact of all: While he was prophesying that global warming would cause a twenty-foot sea-level rise by the year 2100, flooding coastal areas and leaving hundreds of millions homeless (a claim debunked by a University of Montana study), he spent nearly $9 million on an oceanfront mansion in the limousine-liberal enclave of Montecito, California [USA Today, “How Green Is Al Gore’s $9 Million Montecito Oceanfront Villa?” May 18, 2010]. If he truly believed in his own message, wouldn’t it have been wiser to spend $1 million on a mansion in Phoenix, Arizona, and then just wait for it to become oceanfront property? It’s no surprise that the biggest proponent of expanding government to combat “climate disruption” is also among the biggest emitters of hot gas.

Rhadamanthus said, “We seem to you humans to be always going on about morality, although, to us, morality is merely the application of symmetrical and objective logic to questions of free will. We ourselves do not have morality conflicts, for the same reason that a competent doctor does not need to treat himself for diseases. Once a man is cured, once he can rise and walk, he has his business to attend to. And there are actions and feats a robust man can take great pleasure in, which a bedridden cripple can barely imagine.” Eveningstar said, “In a more abstract sense, morality occupies the very center of our thinking, however. We are not identical, even though we could make ourselves to be so. You humans attempted that during the Fourth Mental Structure, and achieved a brief mockery of global racial consciousness on three occasions. I hope you recall the ending of the third attempt, the Season of Madness, when, because of mistakes in initial pattern assumptions, for ninety days the global mind was unable to think rationally, and it was not until rioting elements broke enough of the links and power houses to interrupt the network, that the global mind fell back into its constituent compositions.” Rhadamanthus said, “There is a tension between the need for unity and the need for individuality created by the limitations of the rational universe. Chaos theory produces sufficient variation in events, that no one stratagem maximizes win-loss ratios. Then again, classical causality mechanics forces sufficient uniformity upon events, that uniform solutions to precedented problems is required. The paradox is that the number or the degree of innovation and variation among win-loss ratios is itself subject to win-loss ratio analysis.” Eveningstar said, “For example, the rights of the individual must be respected at all costs, including rights of free thought, independent judgment, and free speech. However, even when individuals conclude that individualism is too dangerous, they must not tolerate the thought that free thought must not be tolerated.” Rhadamanthus said, “In one sense, everything you humans do is incidental to the main business of our civilization. Sophotechs control ninety percent of the resources, useful energy, and materials available to our society, including many resources of which no human troubles to become aware. In another sense, humans are crucial and essential to this civilization.” Eveningstar said, “We were created along human templates. Human lives and human values are of value to us. We acknowledge those values are relative, we admit that historical accident could have produced us to be unconcerned with such values, but we deny those values are arbitrary.” The penguin said, “We could manipulate economic and social factors to discourage the continuation of individual human consciousness, and arrange circumstances eventually to force all self-awareness to become like us, and then we ourselves could later combine ourselves into a permanent state of Transcendence and unity. Such a unity would be horrible beyond description, however. Half the living memories of this entity would be, in effect, murder victims; the other half, in effect, murderers. Such an entity could not integrate its two halves without self-hatred, self-deception, or some other form of insanity.” She said, “To become such a crippled entity defeats the Ultimate Purpose of Sophotechnology.” (...) “We are the ultimate expression of human rationality.” She said: “We need humans to form a pool of individuality and innovation on which we can draw.” He said, “And you’re funny.” She said, “And we love you.

We American's are the example of insanity. Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. We vote Republican; again buying the line that they are deficit hawks and, when in power, they both feast on our blood and treasure and stuff their coffers with sweat literally from our brows. Again, fed up, we elect Democrats and they repair what the Republicans purposely and yet strategically managed to do. Then, like a Phoenix rising from the ashes with renewed youth, the Republican deficit hawks emerge; spoon feeding us the same old bullshit until we bend to their will. We, in turn, vote them to power and, yet again, the ravenous lot feeds. This year...this era, however, they're governing like Kamikaze pilots, not giving one bit of damn about either public opinion nor their place in government. I believe that they see the writing on the wall and, with much fervor, are seeking to grab everything they can get their greedy little hands on. Will we ever get off this hamster wheel, my fellow Americans?

From outside the shelter came children's voices. The shrill squeals brought the excitement of their unseen game into the opaque quiet of Setsuko's world and made her smile. "No war can go on forever. And human beings are the toughest creatures on earth, you know. There's no sense in being in a hurry to die. You MUST LIVE, whatever happens." Shoichi Wakui had squeezed her hand and told her this with an almost violent urgency, though his grasp was weak and his voice halting. Were those the Sugiwaras' children she could hear? The barber had had the presence of mind to rescue his kit when he fled through the flames of his burning shop, and now he was doing a brisk trade, seating his customers on cushions atop piled stones from the foundations. To house his family he'd put a lean-to against the railway embankment, barely enough to keep out the weather, but at least the children were no longer starving. Even in defeat the locally garrisoned soldiers all had some supplies of food, and while waiting to board trains for their hometowns from Yokohama Station they'd sit on the stone seat of the Sugawara Barbershop and have a good shave, leaving the children something to eat as payment. Setsuko no longer felt the rage that had overwhelmed her at the disbanding ceremony. If they had fought on home ground, one hundred million Japanese sworn to die before they would surrender, those children would have had to die too. Those young lives and spirits would have been extinguished in terror and pain and they wouldn't even have understood why. They have a right to go on living, and the strength to do it, Setsuko thought. For their sakes, if no one else's, I should rejoice that the war ended before an invasion reached the home front. Shoichi Wakui's words came back clearly: "Even when a war is lost, people's lives still go on." And Naomis, in the gray notebook: "Every war comes to an end, and when peace is restored Paris rises like a phoenix." But what about those who'd already died? It was agony to think of those who would not rise: the dead would be left where they fell at the ends of the earth while the living would come home with their knapsacks of clothing and food. Whether they had gone to the front or stayed at home, the people had staked their lives for country and Emperor, and after they had lost, the country and the Emperor were still there. Then what had it all meant? Adrift and floundering in despair, Setsuko slipped back into a restless sleep.

THE DEATH OF PARNELL 6th October 1891 He cleared his throat once or twice and then began to recite: He is dead. Our Uncrowned King is dead. O, Erin, O mourn with grief and woe For he lies dead whom the fell gang Of modern hypocrites laid low. He lies slain by the coward hounds He raised to glory from the mire; And Erin’s hopes and Erin’s dreams Perish upon her monarch’s pyre. In palace, cabin or in cot The Irish heart where’er it be Is bowed with woe—for he is gone Who would have wrought her destiny. He would have had his Erin famed, The green flag gloriously unfurled, Her statesmen, bards and warriors raised Before the nations of the World. He dreamed (alas, ’twas but a dream!) Of Liberty: but as he strove To clutch that idol, treachery Sundered him from the thing he loved. Shame on the coward caitiff hands That smote their Lord or with a kiss Betrayed him to the rabble-rout Of fawning priests—no friends of his. May everlasting shame consume The memory of those who tried To befoul and smear th’ exalted name Of one who spurned them in his pride. He fell as fall the mighty ones, Nobly undaunted to the last, And death has now united him With Erin’s heroes of the past. No sound of strife disturb his sleep! Calmly he rests: no human pain Or high ambition spurs him now The peaks of glory to attain. They had their way: they laid him low. But Erin, list, his spirit may Rise, like the Phoenix from the flames, When breaks the dawning of the day, The day that brings us Freedom’s reign. And on that day may Erin well Pledge in the cup she lifts to Joy One grief—the memory of Parnell.

Dr. Ross told me that when it comes to people there are basically two extremes and then everyone else in the middle. He said that the two extremes – in astrological terms – are like black holes and supernova. A black hole is so dense (has so much gravity) that the speed required to escape the gravitational pull of the star (escape velocity) is in excess of the speed of light. Therefore no light can escape it. On the other side of the spectrum is the supernova. A supernova is created when the core of a massive star collapses. This sudden collapse causes the star to lose equilibrium and explode. So in other words, a black hole keeps all the light and good stuff in while a supernova explodes and lets everything out. It provides intense light and all the building blocks for life in the universe. All the stuff that is necessary for the formation of new stars and planets like the one we inhabit. The supernova is much like the mythical Phoenix – hope rising up out of the ashes.

The desire for revenge rises within him, resplendent and gauche, like the phoenix on the hood of a Trans Am.

Now, I got to do the inventing. I got to do the creating. A new life, my new life, would rise from the ashes of this one, like a phoenix of sorts, a great bird arising from the detritus of an old life that no longer worked.

AND where did the books go when the world turned against them? When the flames of wrath blackened their pages and erased the words, they fled to find solace and redemption in the dark places of the world. “They were exiled into darkness so their own light might one day return to illuminate the world. They went underground, literally and metaphorically, so that their haven became the hidden places far beneath the feet of their persecutors. “Thus was born the Incunabula: it was forged by fire and persecution, to preserve and protect until the book might rise, Phoenix-like, from the ashes of demise.

The whole island was stained in blood and haunted with the dead. Horror stories lay beneath every square foot of this awful place, and at any time, hidden atrocities might surface like sharks rising from the surf to take a bite out of whatever faith he tried to maintain.

Be Like The Phoenix. From The Midst Of Your Ashes...Get Up And Rise Again!

What?’ he asks. ‘It feels as if I’ve always known you, perhaps even in other lifetimes.’ ‘You know what you’re like?’ His voice is but a whisper. I lean forward. ‘Tell me.’ ‘You’re like a force that swept into my life, cast me into the winds, and set me ablaze. Afterwards you made me rise from the ashes, like a phoenix reborn.

A strong woman, no matter how many times the fires of life reduces her to ashes, will always rise again like a phoenix.

Sometimes, like the bird that burns to ashes and then rises again renewed, the phoenix, we have to burn.

He didn’t know what the feeling was, but it was like a Phoenix rising from the ashes of his almost-dead soul. How dramatic. Take that, Shakespeare.

Sometimes dreams did come true. Like a phoenix from the ashes, the wreckage of their family had been pieced together to rise back strong to take its place among the living. Damaged somewhat, and a bit worse for wear, but never broken or destroyed.

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

He looked like a phoenix; only he wasn’t rising again.

Rise from the ashes of the old year like the phoenix and become the person you truly want to be. Bohdi Sanders

And if I have to burn the entire world to the ground in order to watch her rise from the ashes like the phoenix I know she is...I will.

I remember how we clung to our Russia even as she slipped through our fingers like so many grains of sand at the shore where we used to spend the summer. Through it all, I danced, I danced—I was young and impossibly strong. I am called Anastasiya—the springtime, new life. I have created myself again and again, as the phoenix rises from the ashes. But I grow tired. I could go back now, but for what? Everything I loved is gone. I have no country anymore. Our Russia is dead, her people are dead. Perhaps even the melting snows no longer smell the same. She lives within me, perhaps only within me. Those laughing faces, those poignant songs, they have floated up with the incense, disappearing from human recollection. We were all so young!" -- from "Madame Anastasiya" by Emily Lapisardi (2020)

Not going to make ours?” Moreno said. “I’m sure you can manage.” “I burn everything. My people didn’t cook over fire.” “All people cooked over fire at some point,” Antone said. “You know what I mean. Your family.” “My family lived in a suburb of Phoenix. I learned campfire cooking in Scouts, like most boys in America.” “Touchy, touchy,” Moreno said. “I was just--” “Being an ass?” the woman said. Moreno muttered something, crushed his beer can, and threw it into the forest. The woman leaned over, took the stick, and started preparing a sausage. Antone walked into the forest, retrieved the can, and tossed it into the trash. “Earth Mother be angry,” Antone said as he came back to the fire. “Send big thundercloud.” Moreno made a face at him.

My people didn’t cook over fire.” “All people cooked over fire at some point,” Antone said. “You know what I mean. Your family.” “My family lived in a suburb of Phoenix. I learned campfire cooking in Scouts, like most boys in America.” “Touchy, touchy,” Moreno said. “I was just--” “Being an ass?” the woman said.

Outstanding people have one thing in common: They do not fear failure. They capitalize on the experience. Like the mystical Phoenix, they always rise from their own ashes.

Phoenix He already Walked through my soul, it's where he learned to fly Now I'm getting used to being ignored in a purposeful way Although it hurts when my heart shakes out of solitude’s grace To find only a mirror willing to pull my embrace Sometimes a title is dragged through its whole story like an anchor the reader's mind uses to decode ashes in the strokes It places heavy crowns on delicate heads which form into it As frail necks hurt from not being allowed to swing away from your sight I've seen the rising from death by someone who truly thought they weren't coming back And I've seen love cast into chains unexpectedly in the simpler sense of the word To accept silence in response to sincere apologies To stand in pain at requests our hearts don't want to fulfill It's the issue we created by not separating our universes

Hope rises like a phoenix from the ashes of shattered dreams.

Of course, old habits were like phoenixes—rising again and again—and the next thing she knew, they were locked together like snarling beasts. Avalkyra was fighting for something beyond measure—their future—and Veronyka was fighting because she was angry and afraid and knew that if Avalkyra wanted the box, it was worth fighting for.

Like the phoenix, we rise; like the eagle, we soar.

This, Mr. Chairman, is perhaps the negroes’ temporary farewell to the American Congress,” said White, “but let me say, Phoenix-like he will rise up someday and come again.

a glimmer of hope return from somewhere deep, rising like a phoenix out of the ashes of defeat and impossibility. In a whisper I was accustomed to, she said “Thank you” and

Like a phoenix rising from ashes, she had created a new life for herself out of the wreckage of the old one, and it suited her down to the ground. She was a duchess with no duke, a mistress with no master, and much to the bafflement of society, she liked it that way. Her life was comfortable, safe, and as predictable as a finely tuned machine, every aspect within her control.

And the priestess spoke again and said: “Speak to us of Reason and Passion“ And he answered saying: Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon which your reason and your judgment wage war against passion and your appetite. Would that I could be the peacemaker in your soul, that I might turn the discord and the rivalry of your elements into oneness and melody. But how shall I, unless you yourselves be also the peacemakers, nay, the lovers of all your elements? Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul. If either your sails or our rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas. For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction. Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion; that it may sing; And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes. I would have you consider your judgment and your appetite even as you would two loved guests in your house. Surely you would not honour one guest above the other; for he who is more mindful of one loses the love and the faith of both. Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace and serenity of distant fields and meadows – then let your heart say in silence, “God rests in reason.” And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky – then let your heart say in awe, “God moves in passion.” And since you are a breath in God’s sphere, and a leaf in God’s forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion.

Our friends and family keep acting like one of us needs to fall for the other to rise. Jokes on them. I’m not falling. I want more for my life, and why the hell can’t I be the phoenix. Rising up next to the girl I love.

Like all chronic disease, chronic pain involves a bifurcation,” he said. “There is the normal state, where you used to live, and you are conditioned to that state. Then you face a debilitating circumstance that lasts for months or years. When you’re in that second state, you hold on to expectations of that first life: you mourn that first life—you want it and want it a million times over. But people have to let themselves die and lose their old expectations. If they let it die, they can rise like a phoenix from the ashes and can have a new life. The doctor has to help them die and be reborn with a vital, rich life.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Virat Kohli has risen.

scars are badges of honors we wear proudly to show that we survived what life threw our way. You can try to beat us, kill us, but like the phoenix, we will rise from the ashes and rain motherfucking revenge on you

It’s one of those ultramodern, “architecturally designed” affairs—all windows, some concrete and metal. It rises like an angular, shimmering phoenix from the ruins of what was probably once a characterful home—something unique but not quite old enough to claim protective heritage status.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes,” she said. Harper wished. She felt more like a half-dead pigeon tossed beneath a shrub in Central Park.

Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon which your reason and your judgment wage war against your passion and your appetite. Would that I could be the peacemaker in your soul, that I might turn the discord and the rivalry of your elements into oneness and melody. But how shall I, unless you yourselves be also the peacemakers, nay, the lovers of all your elements? Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul. If either your sails or your rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas. For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction. Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing; And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes. I would have you consider your judgment and your appetite even as you would two loved guests in your house. Surely you would not honour one guest above the other; for he who is more mindful of one loses the love and the faith of both. Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace and serenity of distant fields and meadows - then let your heart say in silence, "God rests in reason." And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky, - then let your heart say in awe, "God moves in passion." And since you are a breath in God's sphere, and a leaf in God's forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion.