Quotes about worlds

A great attitude does much more than turn on the lights in our worlds it seems to magically connect us to all sorts of serendipitous opportunities that were somehow absent before the change.

We don't experience our professional and personal lives as separate worlds they are intertwined and holistic.

There has to be new words to explain new worlds.

Just as heart is a fountain of unspoken words,the universe is a womb of wonder weird worlds.

You haven't finished the key, but not because you are afraid to finish. You're afraid of finding you can't finish. You're afraid to go down to where the stones stand, but not because you're afraid of what may come once you enter the circle. You're afraid of what may not come. You're not afraid of the great world, Eddie, but of the small one inside yourself.

There is more magic in our own world than in any world of fantasy.

Even though this world is narrow, it is wide... to those who understand. This world isn't the only one.

perhaps,thought Felix,that's what magic is--physics with a different twist to it.my world just hasn't discovered the twist.

After a while it occurred to me that between the covers of each of those books lay a boundless universe waiting to be discovered while beyond those walls, in the outside world, people allowed life to pass by in afternoons of football and radio soaps, content to do little more than gaze at their navels.

And I read something else," Jacob goes on. "There was this discussion of the story of Cain and Abel, from the Bible. After Cain kills his brother, God says, 'The bloods of your brother call out to me.' Not blood. Bloods. Weird, right? So the Talmud tries to explain it.""I can explain it," says William. "The scribe was drunk.""William!" cries Jeanne. "The Bible is written by God!""And copied by scribes," the big boy replies. "Who get drunk. A lot. Trust me."Jacob is laughing. "The rabbis have a d

I have lived in worlds beyond counting and countries as strange and wonderful as the dance of dust in sunbeams, because I have lived in books.

There's so many different worlds, so many different suns. And we have just one world, but we live in different ones.

The people who love you will guide you like bright lights into the other worlds.

So I saw that there was only me. There was only me who could worry about what was happening here, inside these walls of my life. Other people had their own worlds to worry about, and in the end, they had to fend for themselves, just like us.

Introverts live in two worlds: We visit the world of people, but solitude and the inner world will always be our home.

Words, then, are born of worlds. But they also take us places we can’t go: Constantinople and Mars, Valhalla, the Planet of the Apes. Language comes from what we’ve seen, touched, loved, lost. And it uses knowable things to give us glimpses of what’s not. The Word, after all, is God.

A world emerging, daily, out of nothing, a world that we trust to resemble what we've seen previously. We should know better.

I live in two unique worlds, traveling between both with just the opening or closing of my eyes.

The sound of her phone shocked her out of the dark world that was currently playing in front of her eyes from the book in her lap. She wondered sometimes, why she bothered with books. If she wanted to hallucinate, all she had to do was get up in the morning.

Some build their castles 'mid thunderbolts and fireworks. My worlds take shape in silence.

There's no such thing as complete when it comes to stories. Stories are infinite. They are as infinite as worlds.

The innumerable worlds in the Milky Way, words.

People don't believe me when I tell them I'm a magician who makes portals to other worlds. So I tell them I'm a writer instead.

There's a sameness to streetlife. On every world I've ever been, the same underlying patterns play out, flaunt and vaunt, buy and sell, like some distilled essence of human behavior seeping out from whatever clanking political machine has been dropped on it from above.

This isn't about simple morality. Not anymore. The world is too big, and there are worlds in worlds. They were always there, in everyone's heads, but now we can see them. We're starting to bleed into each other.

What worlds are there herein? I’ll tell you. In these seas of fragrant waters, numerous as atoms in unspeakably many buddha-fields, rest an equal number of world systems. Each world system also contains an equal number of worlds. Those world systems in the ocean of worlds have various resting places, various shapes and forms, various substances and essences, various locations, various entryways, various adornments, various boundaries, various alignments, various similarities, and various powers

Stella scribbledin thick black textaacross half the pagesof my best storybook,filled with people who venturedwhere their hearts took them.Beautiful worlds beyond mine.

Unusual doors often take you to the unusual worlds!

Few of us have seen the stars as folk saw them then - our cities and towns cast too much light into the night - but, from the village of Wall, the stars were laid out like worlds or like ideas, uncountable as the trees in a forest or the leaves on a tree.

Your Eve was wise, John. She knew that Paradise would make her mad, if she were to live forever with Adam and know no other thing but strawberries and tigers and rivers of milk. She knew they would tire of these things, and each other. They would grow to hate every fruit, every stone, every creature they touched. Yet where could they go to find any new thing? It takes strength to live in Paradise and not collapse under the weight of it. It is every day a trial. And so Eve gave her lover the gift

You read, move your lips, figure out the words, and it's like you're in two places at the same time: you're sitting or lying with your legs curled up, your hand groping in the bowl, but you can see different worlds, far-off worlds that maybe never existed but still seem real. You run or sail or race in a sleigh--you're running away from someone, or you yourself have decided to attack--your heart thumps, life flies by, and it's wondrous: you can live as many different lives as there are books to

There are no more worlds to conquer!

These times are unfriendly toward Worlds alternative to this one

This is what I’ve always loved about a city, all the worlds hidden away inside, largest of aquariums.

The increase in value of the world of things is directly proportional to the decrease in value of the human world.

Writers, when they’re good, open windows to worlds held precious and priceless by the soul. It is a sad day when they leave the earth, like having the windows shut for good. Where will the world be without good writers?

I walked to the bookcase and examined the storybooks inside. As a girl, I had dreamed of having stacks of books at my disposal--stories to get lost in, other worlds to live in when mine was so bleak.

Where books had been a comfort before, they became a necessity, old books best of all: thick heavy tomes with stories that spread and twisted through other worlds, where he could walk like a ghost in the footsteps of other lives.

You are but a tiny cluster upon the vines of heaven, where the grapes are worlds; yet you hold the power to ripen your bitter berries and add to the eternal vintage of cosmic sweetness if so you will.

It was if, in the process of its long and arduous journey from Afghanistan's mines to Europe's canvases, and its painful evolution from barren beginnings, ultramarine had collected and purified all the wisdom of the different worlds it traversed, retaining only what was common to then, and what was most important. This pure, clean color evokes undulating infinity, that delicate moment between day and night, an image of man constantly drifting between existence and non-existence.

One of my favourite things about being an author is waking up knowing that there are worlds just waiting to be discovered and created.

It's mind-boggling how many different worlds people live in on this one planet.

One wants never to give up this crystalline perspective. One wants to keep counterpositioning home with what one knows of alternative realities, as they exist in Tunis or Hyderabad. One wants never to forget that nothing here is normal, that the streets are different in Wisebaden, and Louyang, that this is just one of many possible worlds.

I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.

...God sometimes sends flowers -but I like it best when he darkens the sky and lights up an infinitude of worlds...

A world between my fingers.

Not a very pretty world, is it?""Which one?

For the ones who dream of stranger worlds.