Via Dolorosa Quotes

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It is usually unbearably painful to read a book by an author who knows way less than you do, unless the book is a novel.
Mokokoma Mokhonoana
Low grass and green moss covered soil that, come summer, would turn arid and cracked. Cyclamens peeked out from under the shelter of rocks, pink and shy as brides. Along the path, tall stalks of purple brush-head flowers swayed in the breeze like a flock of hooded priests on the Via Dolorosa.
Talia Carner (Jerusalem Maiden)
As we go up into the Via Dolorosa, we hear an exciting jingle. Arab boys are racing their donkeys down the hill. You
Saul Bellow (To Jerusalem and Back)
Via Dolorosa
Tim LaHaye (Desecration (Left Behind, #9))
As we go up into the Via Dolorosa, we hear an exciting jingle. Arab boys are racing their donkeys down the hill. You look for sleighs and frost when you hear this jingle-belling. Instead, there are boys stern and joyous, galloping hell-bent on their donkeys toward the Lions’ Gate.
Saul Bellow (To Jerusalem and Back)
We appealed to the conscience of the world. The world has no conscience. We have no one but ourselves." The fight. The struggle. The historic destiny. The return of the people. The cause: life therefore having a meaning and shape that eludes the rest of us in the endless wash of 'What the hell are we doing here?' In a single day, says an Israeli friend, he experiences events and emotions that would keep a Swede going for a year.
David Hare (Via Dolorosa & When Shall We Live?)
O Karma não é um castigo,mas antes uma oportunidade de crescimento. Mesmo que as experiências sejam difíceis e dolorosas, elas não são uma retribuição. São apenas a via para aprender a lição que precisamos de aprender. Meio de aprendizagem e crescimento.
Brian L. Weiss (Miracles Happen: The Transformational Healing Power of Past-Life Memories)
And it's a preference, a long-held preference, what you might call a 'habit of mind'—putting words into other people's mouths. And those people are played by people whose profession is to pretend to be other people. For which purpose, they adopt gestures, voices, intonations, even sexual attitudes not their own. On stage, they affect to be ravished and amused by someone whom they will, afterwards, run a mile to avoid having dinner with. Likewise, they spit torrents of abuse against an actor who later, later, in the softness of the night, they will share their bed with.
David Hare (Via Dolorosa & When Shall We Live?)
Bitter love, a violet with its crown of thorns in a thicket of spiky passions, spirit of sorrow, corolla of rage: how did you come to conquer my soul? What via dolorosa brought you? Why did you pour your tender fire so quickly, over my life’s cool leaves? Who pointed the way to you? What flower, what rock, what smoke showed you where I live? Because the earth shook—it did—, that awful night; then dawn filled all the goblets with its wine; the heavenly sun declared itself; while inside, a ferocious love wound around and around me— till it pierced me with its thorns, it sword, slashing a seared road through my heart.
Pablo Neruda
I saw the Tracker—but that’s wrong, really. I saw right to where the tracking thing was. I saw those winnowing tentacles come out again, and the front figure pause, and then—it’s the only word that actually describes it—ooze on again on its via dolorosa. And at that the hind figure seemed to summon all its strength. It seemed to open out a fringe of arms or tentacles, a sort of corona of black rays spread out. It gaped with a full expansion, and even I could feel that there was a perfectly horrible attraction, or vacuum drag, being exerted. That was horrible enough, with the face of the super-suffering man now almost under me resonating my own terror. But the worst thing was that, as the tentacles unwrapped and winnowed out toward their prey, I saw they weren’t really tentacles at all. They were spreading cracks, veins, fissures, rents of darkness expanding from a void, a gap of pure blackness. There’s only one way to say it—one was seeing right through the solid world into a gap, an ultimate maelstrom. And from it was spreading out a—I can only call it so—a negative sunrise of black radiation that would deluge and obliterate everything. Of course it was still only a fissure, a vent, but one realized—This is a hole, a widening hole, that has been pierced in the dike that defends the common-sense, sensuous world. Through this vortex-hole that is rapidly opening, over this lip and brink, everything could slip, fall in, find no purchase, be swallowed up. It was like watching a crumbling cliff with survivors clinging to it being undercut and toppling into a black tide that had swallowed up its base. This negative force could drag the solidest things from their base, melt them, engulf the whole hard, visible world. And we were right on that brink. What was after us, for I knew now I was in its field, was not a thing of any passions or desires. Those are limited things, satiable things—in a way, balanced things, and so familiar, safe even, almost friendly in comparison with this. You know the grim saying, “You can give a sop to Cerberus, but not to his Master.” No, this was—that’s the technical term, I found, coined by those who have been up against this and come back alive—this was absolute Deprivation, really insatiable need, need that nothing can satisfy, absolute refusal to give, to yield. It is the second strongest thing in the universe, and, indeed, outside that. It could swallow the whole universe, and the universe would go for nothing, because in that gap the whole universe could fill not a bit of it. It would remain as empty, as gaping, as insatiable as ever, for it is the bottomless pit made by unstanchable Lack.
Gerald Heard (Dromenon: The Best Weird Stories of Gerald Heard)
July 19th FORGIVE THEM BECAUSE THEY DON’T KNOW “As Plato said, every soul is deprived of truth against its will. The same holds true for justice, self-control, goodwill to others, and every similar virtue. It’s essential to constantly keep this in your mind, for it will make you more gentle to all.” —MARCUS AURELIUS, MEDITATIONS, 7.63 As he wound his way up Via Dolorosa to the top of Calvary Hill, Jesus (or Christus as he would have been known to Seneca and other Roman contemporaries) had suffered immensely. He’d been beaten, flogged, stabbed, forced to bear his own cross, and was set to be crucified on it next to two common criminals. There he watched the soldiers roll dice to see who would get to keep his clothes, listened as the people sneered and taunted him. Whatever your religious inclinations, the words that Jesus spoke next—considering they came as he was subjected to unimaginable human suffering—send chills down your spine. Jesus looked upward and said simply, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” That is the same truth that Plato spoke centuries earlier and that Marcus spoke almost two centuries after Jesus; other Christians must have spoken this truth as they were cruelly executed by the Romans under Marcus’s reign: Forgive them; they are deprived of truth. They wouldn’t do this if they weren’t. Use this knowledge to be gentle and gracious.
Ryan Holiday (The Daily Stoic: 366 Meditations on Wisdom, Perseverance, and the Art of Living)
Afirma Pereira tê-lo conhecido num dia de Verão. Um magnífico dia de Verão, cheio de sol e de vento, e Lisboa resplandecia. Ao que parece, Pereira estava na redacção, não sabia que fazer, o director estava de férias, e ele via-se com o problema de preparar a página cultural, pois o «Lisboa» passara a ter uma página cultural, e tinham-lha confiado. E ele, Pereira, reflectia sobre a morte. Naquele belo dia de Verão, com a brisa atlântica acariciando as copas das árvores e o Sol a brilhar, com uma cidade que cintilava sob a sua janela, e um azul, um azul incrível, afirma Pereira, de uma limpidez que quase feria os olhos, ele pôs-se a pensar na morte. Porquê? Isso, Pereira não sabe dizer. Fosse porque o pai, quando ele era miúdo, tinha uma agência funerária que se chamava Pereira A Dolorosa; fosse porque a sua mulher morrera tísica uns anos antes; fosse porque era gordo, sofria do coração, tinha a tensão alta e o médico lhe dissera que se continuasse assim não durava muito, o facto é que Pereira se pôs a pensar na morte, afirma. ------------------------------------------ Antonio Tabucchi - Afirma Pereira
Antonio Tabucchi (Sostiene Pereira)
Donna pietosa e di novella etate, adorna assai di gentilezze umane, ch’era là ’v’io chiamava spesso morte, veggendo li occhi miei pien di pietate, e ascoltando le parole vane, si mosse con paura a pianger forte. e altre donne, che si fuoro accorte di me per quella che meco piangía, fecer lei partir via, e approssimâsi per farmi sentire. Qual dicea: "Non dormire", e qual dicea: "Perché sì ti sconforte?" Allor lassai la nova fantasia, chiamando il nome de la donna mia. Era la voce mia sì dolorosa e rotta sì da l’angoscia del pianto, ch’io solo intesi il nome nel mio core; e con tutta la vista vergognosa ch’era nel viso mio giunta cotanto, mi fece verso lor volgere Amore. Elli era tale a veder mio colore, che facea ragionar di morte altrui: "Deh, consoliam costui" pregava l’una l’altra umilemente; e dicevan sovente: "Che vedestù, che tu non hai valore?" E quando un poco confortato fui, io dissi: "Donne, dicerollo a vui. Mentr’io pensava la mia frale vita, e vedea ’l suo durar com’è leggiero, piansemi Amor nel core, ove dimora; per che l’anima mia fu sì smarrita, che sospirando dicea nel pensero: - Ben converrà che la mia donna mora -. Io presi tanto smarrimento allora, ch’io chiusi li occhi vilmente gravati, e furon sì smagati li spirti miei, che ciascun giva errando; e poscia imaginando, di caunoscenza e di verità fora, visi di donne m’apparver crucciati, che mi dicean: - pur morràti, morràti -. Poi vidi cose dubitose molte, nel vano imaginare ov’io entrai; ed esser mi parea non so in qual loco, e veder donne andar per via disciolte, qual lagrimando, e qual traendo guai, che di tristizia saettavan foco. Poi mi parve vedere a poco a poco turbar lo sole e apparir la stella, e pianger elli ed ella; cader li augelli volando per l’âre, e la terra tremare; ed omo apparve scolorito e fioco, dicendomi: - Che fai? non sai novella? Morta è la donna tua, ch’era sì bella -. Levava li occhi miei bagnati in pianti, e vedea (che parean pioggia di manna), li angeli che tornavan suso in cielo, e una nuvoletta avean davanti, dopo la qual gridavan tutti: -"Osanna"- e s’altro avesser detto, a voi dirèlo. Allor diceva Amor: - Più nol ti celo; vieni a veder nostra donna che giace -. Lo imaginar fallace mi condusse a veder madonna morta; e quand’io l’ebbi scorta, vedea che donne la covrían d’un velo; ed avea seco umiltà verace, che parea che dicesse: - Io sono in pace -. Io divenia nel dolor sì umile, veggendo in lei tanta umiltà formata, ch’io dicea: - Morte, assai dolce ti tegno; tu dei omai esser cosa gentile, poi che tu se’ ne la mia donna stata, e dèi aver pietate e non disdegno. Vedi che sì desideroso vegno d’esser de’ tuoi, ch’io ti somiglio in fede. Vieni, ché ’l cor te chiede -. Poi mi partia, consumato ogne duolo; e quand’io era solo, dicea, guardando verso l’alto regno: - Beato, anima bella, chi te vede! - Voi mi chiamaste allor, vostra mercede".
Dante Alighieri
[Canzone II] Donna pietosa e di novella etate, adorna assai di gentilezze umane, ch’era là ’v’io chiamava spesso morte, veggendo li occhi miei pien di pietate, e ascoltando le parole vane, si mosse con paura a pianger forte. e altre donne, che si fuoro accorte di me per quella che meco piangía, fecer lei partir via, e approssimâsi per farmi sentire. Qual dicea: "Non dormire", e qual dicea: "Perché sì ti sconforte?" Allor lassai la nova fantasia, chiamando il nome de la donna mia. Era la voce mia sì dolorosa e rotta sì da l’angoscia del pianto, ch’io solo intesi il nome nel mio core; e con tutta la vista vergognosa ch’era nel viso mio giunta cotanto, mi fece verso lor volgere Amore. Elli era tale a veder mio colore, che facea ragionar di morte altrui: "Deh, consoliam costui" pregava l’una l’altra umilemente; e dicevan sovente: "Che vedestù, che tu non hai valore?" E quando un poco confortato fui, io dissi: "Donne, dicerollo a vui. Mentr’io pensava la mia frale vita, e vedea ’l suo durar com’è leggiero, piansemi Amor nel core, ove dimora; per che l’anima mia fu sì smarrita, che sospirando dicea nel pensero: - Ben converrà che la mia donna mora -. Io presi tanto smarrimento allora, ch’io chiusi li occhi vilmente gravati, e furon sì smagati li spirti miei, che ciascun giva errando; e poscia imaginando, di caunoscenza e di verità fora, visi di donne m’apparver crucciati, che mi dicean: - pur morràti, morràti -. Poi vidi cose dubitose molte, nel vano imaginare ov’io entrai; ed esser mi parea non so in qual loco, e veder donne andar per via disciolte, qual lagrimando, e qual traendo guai, che di tristizia saettavan foco. Poi mi parve vedere a poco a poco turbar lo sole e apparir la stella, e pianger elli ed ella; cader li augelli volando per l’âre, e la terra tremare; ed omo apparve scolorito e fioco, dicendomi: - Che fai? non sai novella? Morta è la donna tua, ch’era sì bella -. Levava li occhi miei bagnati in pianti, e vedea (che parean pioggia di manna), li angeli che tornavan suso in cielo, e una nuvoletta avean davanti, dopo la qual gridavan tutti: -"Osanna"- e s’altro avesser detto, a voi dirèlo. Allor diceva Amor: - Più nol ti celo; vieni a veder nostra donna che giace -. Lo imaginar fallace mi condusse a veder madonna morta; e quand’io l’ebbi scorta, vedea che donne la covrían d’un velo; ed avea seco umiltà verace, che parea che dicesse: - Io sono in pace -. Io divenia nel dolor sì umile, veggendo in lei tanta umiltà formata, ch’io dicea: - Morte, assai dolce ti tegno; tu dei omai esser cosa gentile, poi che tu se’ ne la mia donna stata, e dèi aver pietate e non disdegno. Vedi che sì desideroso vegno d’esser de’ tuoi, ch’io ti somiglio in fede. Vieni, ché ’l cor te chiede -. Poi mi partia, consumato ogne duolo; e quand’io era solo, dicea, guardando verso l’alto regno: - Beato, anima bella, chi te vede! - Voi mi chiamaste allor, vostra mercede".
Dante Alighieri
Sulla via del ritorno la osservavo, di nuovo in cammino davanti a me. Frenavo le gambe, accordando l'andatura alla sua. Le erbacce della scarpata la graffiavano e non le sentiva. A momenti deviava invece verso la linea di mezzeria, senza accorgersi del pericolo. Un clacson l'ha fatta trasalire, prima che io avessi il tempo di correggere la sua traiettoria. La mia pena si é di colpo cambiata in rabbia, mi ha incendiato dentro. Eccola lí, la madre dolorosa di quello scapestrato. Era tutta per lui, chiuso tra le tavole di legno. Non aveva niente per me, che sopravvivevo. Di certo quando mi aveva data, creatura di pochi mesi, non si era ridotta cosí. L'ho raggiunta e superata, ho continuato senza voltarmi indietro a guardare se si salvava dalle macchine. Se qualcuno doveva proteggerla, non ero io.
Donatella Di Pietrantonio (L'Arminuta)
I wasn’t afraid of crossing into what some of the players might have considered their private territory–hairstyles and jewellery. I never understood why players would want to have long hair when they spend so much effort trying to be as fit and quick as possible. Anything, even a few extra locks of hair, just didn’t seem sensible. I had my first issue with a player on this topic when Karel Poborský came to Manchester from Slavia Prague in 1996, looking as though he was going to play for Led Zeppelin rather than United. I did manage to persuade him to trim his locks but, even so, they were always too long for my taste. There were other players who would be wearing necklaces carrying crosses that seemed heavier than those the pilgrims carry up the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem. I banned all those. However, there wasn’t much I could do about tattoos since it was hard–even for me–to argue that they added any weight. Eric Cantona started that particular craze when he arrived one morning with the head of an American Indian chief stencilled on to his left breast. Since Eric was venerated by his team-mates, several other players followed suit. I was always struck by the fact that Cristiano Ronaldo never chose to deface his body. It said a lot about his self-discipline.
Alex Ferguson (Leading: Learning from Life and My Years at Manchester United)
La vita di una persona è come una cosa sopra la sabbia di una clessidra. Sotto i tuoi piedi la sabbia scivola giù veloce. Anche i ricordi, la memoria, le parole dette o sentite, finiscono tutti per scorrere via come sabbia. In qualche luogo dell'universo...E' una cosa dolorosa, ma forse "vivere" è proprio quello. E' come una stella che brilla nel cielo. E' un fuoco che brucia nello spazio. Un giorno o l'altro il fuoco si esaurirà.
Saki Murayama (A volte basta un gatto)
Reflect, today, upon this beautiful but sorrowful scene of the gaze of love shared by mother and Son on the way to Calvary.  Reflect also on the fact that both mother and Son meet you on your own journey toward the Cross.  No matter what you encounter, no matter what you endure, they are there, attentive to you, loving you and offering their hearts to you.  Seek also to emulate the hearts of Jesus and our Blessed Mother to those whom you encounter each day.  Grow in compassion and concern for all who suffer, being present to them as they go step by step on their personal via dolorosa (sorrowful way). My Sorrowful Mother, you already endured so much.  But you would not miss this short moment in which you could express your tender love for your Son.  As you looked at Him, your heart intertwined with His.  You felt the pain He felt. You communicated a supernatural joy that strengthened His resolve to give His life for the Salvation of the world. My dear Mother, pray for me that I may be open to your motherly concern for my life.  As I carry my cross and endure the sufferings that befall me, intercede for me and open my soul to the strength of your Son as it flows through your own tender heart. My suffering Lord, as You continued on Your journey to Calvary after falling for the first time, You looked at Your mother with such love.  Your concern was not for Yourself, it was for Your mother and for all who would receive the grace of Your Cross.  May I be one of those, dear Lord, who opens my heart to You at all times and who absorbs the graces You offer so that I can follow in Your footsteps.
John Paul Thomas (40 Days at the Foot of the Cross: A Gaze of Love from the Heart of Our Blessed Mother)
On Fridays, Franciscan fathers lead a cross-bearing procession along the route of the Via Dolorosa
Lonely Planet (Lonely Planet Israel & the Palestinian Territories (Travel Guide))
There was, e.g, the surprising contrast between the death of Moses, immediate and painless, while his eye was not dim nor his natural force abated, and the painful and ignominious death to be endured by Jesus. Then there was the not less remarkable contrast between the manner of Elijah's departure from the earth--translated to heaven without tasting death at all, making a triumphant exit out of the world in a chariot of fire, and the way by which Jesus should enter into glory--the via dolorosa of the cross. Whence this privilege of exemption from death, or from its bitterness, granted to the representatives of the law and the prophets, and wherefore denied to Him who was the end both of law and of prophecy?
Alexander Balmain Bruce (The Training of the Twelve: How Jesus Christ Found and Taught the 12 Apostles; A Book of New Testament Biography)
Nietzsche asked in 1882: 'What is the point of all the art of our works of art if we lose that higher art, the art of festivals?' The brief moment of intoxication lures us off the via dolorosa. Such spectacles also asserted the underlying continuity of European society since the Renaissance, despite steam engine, trainm and telegraph. Such was the confidence in the homology between the present day and a supposedly integrated and self-assured sixteenth century that people were still willing, in donning costumes, to turn themselves into living works of art. (This was the bourgeois response to the fantasy of the socialist Fourier, who thought people could become living artworks if they disrobed.) The contrast between the costumes and the black-and-white everyday garb of 1879, a way of dressing as if designed to be photographed, was sharp. Fourteen thousand citizens took part in Makart's extravaganza, 300,000 more looked on.
Christopher S. Wood (A History of Art History)
interrogatory form Jesus taught His disciples that advancement in His kingdom went not by favor, nor was obtainable by clamorous solicitation; that the way to thrones was the via dolorosa of the cross; that the palm-bearers in the realms of glory should be they who had passed through great tribulation, and the princes of the kingdom they who had drunk most deeply of His cup of sorrow; and that for those who refused to drink thereof, the selfish, the self-indulgent, the ambitious, the vain, there would be no place at all in the kingdom, not to speak of places of honor on His right or left hand.
Alexander Balmain Bruce (The Training of the Twelve: How Jesus Christ Found and Taught the 12 Apostles; A Book of New Testament Biography)