Scenery Appreciation Quotes

Gratitude doesn't change the scenery.  It merely washes clean the glass you look through so you can clearly see the colors.

Within nirvana we can appreciate both positive and negative experiences as simply the scenery of our lives.

As children we have no appreciation of scenery because, having not yet stored similar scenes in our imagination, with their attendant emotions and circumstances, we perceive it without psychic depth. I now looked at the cloudcrowned summits with my

After the hardy baldness of the Norfolk landscape, which Julia appreciated had its own raw beauty, the Cote d'Azur offered spectacular, colorful intricacy. It was rather like comparing a rough diamond to an exquisitely fashioned and polished sapphire, yet they both had their own unique charms.

So you should accept knowledge as if you were hearing something you already knew. But this does not mean to receive various pieces of information merely as an echo of your own opinions. It means that you should not be surprised at whatever you see or hear. If you receive things just as an echo of yourself, you do not really see them, you do not fully accept them as they are. So when we say, “Rozan is famous for its misty, rainy days,” it does not mean to appreciate this sight by recollecting some scenery we have seen before: “It is not so wonderful. I have seen that sight before.” Or “I have painted much more beautiful paintings! Rozan is nothing!” This is not our way. If you are ready to accept things as they are, you will receive them as old friends, even though you appreciate them with new feeling.

Nothing happens while you live. The scenery changes, people come in and go out, that’s all. There are no beginnings. Days are tacked on to days without rhyme or reason, an interminable, monotonous addition. From time to time you make a semi-total: you say: I’ve been travelling for three years, I’ve been in Bouville for three years. Neither is there any end: you never leave a woman, a friend, a city in one go. And then everything looks alike: Shanghai, Moscow, Algiers, everything is the same after two weeks. There are moments—rarely—when you make a landmark, you realize that you’re going with a woman, in some messy business. The time of a flash. After that, the procession starts again, you begin to add up hours and days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. April, May, June. 1924, 1925, 1926. That’s living. But everything changes when you tell about life; it’s a change no one notices: the proof is that people talk about true stories. As if there could possibly be true stories; things happen one way and we tell about them in the opposite sense. [...] “I was out walking, I had left the town without realizing it, I was thinking about my money troubles.” This sentence, taken simply for what it is, means that the man was absorbed, morose, a hundred leagues from an adventure, exactly in the mood to let things happen without noticing them. But the end is there, transforming everything. For us, the man is already the hero of the story. His moroseness, his money troubles are much more precious than ours, they are all gilded by the light of future passions. And the story goes on in the reverse: instants have stopped piling themselves in a lighthearted way one on top of the other, they are snapped up by the end of the story which draws them and each one of them in turn, draws out the preceding instant: “It was night, the street was deserted.” The phrase is cast out negligently, it seems superfluous; but we do not let ourselves be caught and we put it aside: this is a piece of information whose value we shall subsequently appreciate. And we feel that the hero has lived all the details of this night like annunciations, promises, or even that he lived only those that were promises, blind and deaf to all that did not herald adventure. We forget that the future was not yet there; the man was walking in a night without forethought, a night which offered him a choice of dull rich prizes, and he did not make his choice. I wanted the moments of my life to follow and order themselves like those of a life remembered. You might as well try and catch time by the tail.

And the wraith on the heart monitor looks pensively down at Gately from upside-down and asks does Gately remember the myriad thespian extras on for example his beloved ‘Cheers!,’ not the center-stage Sam and Carla and Nom, but the nameless patrons always at tables, filling out the bar’s crowd, concessions to realism, always relegated to back- and foreground; and always having utterly silent conversations: their faces would animate and mouths would move realistically, but without sound; only the name-stars at the bar itself could audibilize. The wraith says these fractional actors, human scenery, could be seen (but not heard) in most pieces of filmed entertainment. And Gately remembers them, the extras in all public scenes, especially like bar and restaurant scenes, or rather remembers how he doesn’t quite remember them, how it never struck his addled mind as in fact surreal that their mouths moved but nothing emerged, and what a miserable fucking bottom-rung job that must be for an actor, to be sort of human furniture, figurants the wraith says they’re called, these surreally mute background presences whose presence really revealed that the camera, like any eye, has a perceptual corner, a triage of who’s important enough to be seen and heard v. just seen. A term from ballet, originally, figurant, the wraith explains. The wraith pushes his glasses up in the vaguely sniveling way of a kid that’s just got slapped around on the playground and says he personally spent the vast bulk of his own former animate life as pretty much a figurant, furniture at the periphery of the very eyes closest to him, it turned out, and that it’s one heck of a crummy way to try to live. Gately, whose increasing self-pity leaves little room or patience for anybody else’s self-pity, tries to lift his left hand and wiggle his pinkie to indicate the world’s smallest viola playing the theme from The Sorrow and the Pity, but even moving his left arm makes him almost faint. And either the wraith is saying or Gately is realizing that you can’t appreciate the dramatic pathos of a figurant until you realize how completely trapped and encaged he is in his mute peripheral status, because like say for example if one of ‘Cheers!’’s bar’s figurants suddenly decided he couldn’t take it any more and stood up and started shouting and gesturing around wildly in a bid for attention and nonperipheral status on the show, Gately realizes, all that would happen is that one of the audibilizing ‘name’ stars of the show would bolt over from stage-center and apply restraints or the Heineken Maneuver or CPR, figuring the silent gesturing figurant was choking on a beer-nut or something, and that then the whole rest of that episode of ‘Cheers!’ would be about jokes about the name star’s life-saving heroics, or else his fuck-up in applying the Heineken Maneuver to somebody who wasn’t choking on a nut. No way for a figurant to win. No possible voice or focus for the encaged figurant.

Going With The Flow- July 8 "Go with the flow. Let go of fear and your need to control. Relinquish anxiety. Let it slip away, as you dive into the river of the present moment, the river of your life., your place in the universe. Stop trying to force the direction. Try not to swim against the current, unless it is necessary for your survival. If you've been clinging to a branch at the riverside, let it go. Let yourself move forward. Let yourself be moved forward. Avoid the rapids when possible. If you can't, stay relaxed. Staying relaxed can take you safely through fierce currents. If you go under for a moment, allow yourself to surface naturally. You will. Appreciate the beauty of the new scenery, as it is. See things with freshness, with newness. You shall never pass by today's scenery again! Don't think too hard about things. The flow is meant to be experienced. Within it, care for yourself. You are part of the flow, an important part. Work with the flow. Work within the flow. Thrashing about isn't necessary. Let the flow help you care for yourself. Let the flow help you set boundaries, make decisions, and get you where you need to be when it is time. You can trust the flow and your part in it. Today, I will go with the flow.

It’s true that an atheist can look at a complete natural explanation and conclude that there is no need for God. Yet many scientists, even atheist scientists, do not see a scientific explanation as ruling out spirituality. And for many laypeople, greater scientific understanding leads to a greater appreciation of design and the Designer; recent studies of people watching nature documentaries (with sweeping scenery and beautiful animals) found that the viewers were more likely to perceive something beyond a materialist explanation.3 From a Christian perspective, scientific explanations elicit even deeper praise, as they reveal new examples of God’s beauty, power, intricacy, and craftsmanship.

The garden, which was exposed to the pure light of the Evemeria morning, had already begun to change in hue, due to the light intensity, before she could enjoy it through the window. For some reason, she couldn’t bear missing such scenery more than being thrown out of the social circle. Enduring the sadness and regret she couldn’t quite understand deep within her heart, Dia was terrified there was almost no space left to store said bitterness.

Jealousy was a too-sensitive teenager’s reaction. If it had been any other week, it would have passed through him like a cool breeze. Instead, it was lodged in his chest like a little chip of ice. He just—wanted to play. Dex, all his life, had wanted to feel that he was part of a team, a member of the cast—an integral member of an ensemble that appreciated his comedic timing, his showboating, his talents, before they withered to dust. Though he supposed the vast majority of humans felt like unpaid extras. Milling about, uselessly waiting to be discovered, recognized for their innate yet invisible value, but doomed never to be anything but human scenery. Maybe that was his team, and he was already on it. Had been on it, in fact, forever.

I took off my shoes, as well, and followed her into the room. I’d left the lights on low so their reflection against the floor-to-ceiling window glass wouldn’t obscure the view of the harbor and the lights of Hong Kong beyond it, but still she paused to log the room details before appreciating the panorama outside. I couldn’t help smiling at that, although it wasn’t unexpected. A civilian would never have paused before taking in that spectacular scenery.

Love is not a store you enter to fulfill your insecurities and unmet needs. Love is not a scenery or a picture perfect thing. Love is not taking. So many people see love as a destination or a servant to fulfill their desires. This is not love. Love is when you look into the mirror and you are at peace with yourself. Love is looking inward to heal all the broken part of yourself and forgive those slow to heal like you would forgive a child that is slow to learn. Love is remembering your inner child and appreciating your past no matter how much you regret it. Love the realization that everything in the past occured to teach you a lesson and improve you, to love you. Love is that moment before you drift off to sleep, that peace in trusting the process. Love is filling your cup first before you seek out another imperfect person , because people are imperfect, then giving from the overflow of your cup. Love is not expecting another human being to give you happiness. Love is knowing your are already overwhelmed with resources to give happiness to yourself and every life you touch. Love is giving. Because only when you give love from a place of fulfillment will you be able to receive the love that will fulfill you.

Everett felt the corners of his mouth begin to twitch. “Millie’s gotten herself stuck up in this tree?” “I’m not stuck,” Millie’s voice called down. “I’m simply taking a small break up here to, er, appreciate the lovely scenery.” Swallowing a laugh, he looked at Elizabeth, who was grinning back at him. “What happened?” “The string on Thaddeus’s kite broke, and it landed in the tree.” “Did no one think about simply buying him another kite?” “He was crying,” Millie called down to him. “Tell me if you’d been here and seen Thaddeus crying that you wouldn’t have hightailed it up this tree.” “I would have, but I’m not afraid of heights, something I get the distinct feeling you suffer from,” Everett called back before he looked back to Elizabeth. “Why didn’t anyone think to send my father up the tree? I know he’s not afraid of heights.” “He and your mother went off to fetch Mrs. Hart,” Elizabeth said. “But they’ve been gone for over an hour, which has been making Miss Millie awfully nervous.” “Why would that make her nervous?” Elizabeth’s brow wrinkled. “I’m not sure, but Miss Millie keeps mumbling something about plotting, and that everyone seems to have lost their minds.” “Who

Sakina followed a path known only to herself, ducking down alleys that ended in tiny squares overgrown with jasmine or dot ted with pools of still water reflecting the moon; jewel-like places that Alif could only stare at for a moment before having to hurry to catch up He heard Sheikh Bilal murmur in appreciation at the scenery as he walked along behind him. "A marvel," the sheikh said. "Truly, the work of the Lord of Worlds surpasses all our puny understanding. You know, I read once that the human mind is incapable of imagining anything that does not exist somewhere, in some form. It seemed a paltry enough truth at the time I thought, of course it must be so, since in a sense everything we will ever discover or invent has, in the eyes of God, already been discovered and invented, as God is above time. Seeing this, though, I begin to understand how much more profound that statement is. It does not simply mean that man's innovation is entirely known to God; it means there is no such thing as fiction.

As children we have no appreciation of scenery because, having not yet stored similar scenes in our imagination, with their attendant emotions and circumstances, we perceive it without psychic depth.

Let’s talk about where meditation and mindfulness practice lead. Imagine, if you will, one of those thirteenth-century Scottish fight scenes with Mel Gibson. The untrained and distracted mind is a melee of broadswords, hideous grimaces, war cries, people’s heads flying off. As we practice returning to the breath, we slowly build up the necessary stability in awareness to notice this battle that we’ve been waging with ourselves. We recognize, we accept. We remember. Very slowly, the internal thugs get disarmed. Eventually they’re gathered in a circle, drinking mead and hiccupping and singing weepy Gaelic ballads. A great calm descends upon the land. So that’s one part of it. The other is we start to notice and appreciate the gorgeous green highland scenery that these idiots have been standing in front of the whole time.

Y'know, suddenly I'm in the mood for salmon roe." "Huh? W-where did that come from?" "C'mon, ain't they similar?" "Not in the least! Sheesh! Do you not have any appreciation for the beauty of the scenery around us? 'Bread is better than the song of birds,' indeed. Goodness gracious." "Hey! That's not what I meant. I do think the scenery is pretty. It's just that noshing on these salmon-skin crisps made me think of it, that's all." "Oh goodness. The strange places your mind goes. *giggle*" That's weird. Before, all it took was the mere mention of Yukihira's name or a glimpse of his face to utterly ruin my mood. Realizing that he's the son of Chef Saiba, the one man I admire most, felt as if the precious memories of my youth were suddenly tarnished. Yet here I am, sitting and chatting with him in this small cabin... And honestly... ... it isn't all that bad.

He glanced at her and the corner of his mouth turned up. He’d caught her staring. “You should look outside,” he said. “Enjoy the scenery. The wildflowers are incredible this year.” “I’m enjoying the scenery.” Her eyes didn’t move from his profile. Jeremy chuckled. “I love it.” “You like when I stare at you?” “You play the best games without playing any games.” Tayla burst into laughter. “You’re right. I make no secret of my purely superficial appreciation. You’re an incredibly handsome man.” “Thank you. And you are a very beautiful woman.” “Thank you. We definitely need to take pictures together.