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Past Life Quotes

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Past Life Quotes

“I... I remember, she realized. A feeling came over her, so strong that for the smallest of moments, it warmed her soul. Pictures flew through her mind: She and Elsa talking in their bedroom, baking with their mother in the kitchen, running down the central staircase. Do the magic! she heard a voice say, and now she realized it was her younger self begging Elsa to create more snow. Together they had skated around the Great Hall and made snow angels. They had built Olaf! She used to marvel at Elsa's magic and always wanted her sister to use it. Do the magic! she heard herself beg again, and then she saw the moment when everything changed. In her haste to stop Anna from falling off a snow mound, Elsa had accidentally struck her. That was when she and Elsa had been ripped apart. She remembered everything!”

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Book:Conceal, Don't Feel
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“I find only sadness and melancholy when I wade through the past, even when revisiting good memories. The past is gone; I can neither grasp it nor reshape it. Therefore, I must force my eyes to look toward the future where my mortal powers thrive.”

MemoriesSadnessFutureRichelle GoodrichMelancholyRichelle E GoodrichPast LifeLook ForwardLook To The Future
Book:Being Bold: Quotes, Poetry, & Motivations for Every Day of the Year
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“The most important author of this book is, in fact, God himself, whose words, spoken for the healing of my own soul, I have rendered. And it is precisely these truths, which the Divinity has shared with me, that are the main reason why I felt an almost sacred duty to pass this book on.”

SoulSpiritualityAfterlifeReincarnationPast Life
Book:Being Pyotr Ilyich: Tchaikovsky’s Inner Life, Revealed by Himself 130 Years Later
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“He remembered the awe of his first desert night, the dazzling web so clear and bright. He had never seen such a sky when he lived in Paris. The lights of the city were too bright. The lights, such lights .. it was six long years since he'd last seen them. Or was it seven now, or even eight? The years ran together and time lost its urgency and sometimes he didn't notice its passage at all. But surely it was a lifetime since Paris. He was happy in the desert yet sometimes longed to be back in the city, to see what it was like now. His memories of it were fond, the bad parts seeming not so bad, the good parts seeming better than they were. But the more time passed, the harder it became to remember at all. No matter how he tried to hold on, the treasures of his past no longer burned so brightly in his memory. The details dimmed and the people grew fuzzy, and he couldn't remember what some of them looked like. He closed his eyes and tried to bring them up, Paul and Gascon and Aunt Elisabeth, but sometimes he couldn't do it. It worried him terribly when it happened. It seemed as if he didn't care. He DID care, he told himself. He didn't want to be unfaithful. He didn't want to lose his other life completely. He asked the marabout for paper and drew pictures of his father with scraps of charcoal. The pictures were crude, but they helped him remember. He promised himself a thousand times that no matter what pron happened to the other faces and places in his mind, he would never let himself forget his father's face. He folded the papers carefully and put them in a leather pouch that hung from his neck, and at night by the fire took them out to look. After he had folded and unfolded them many times the pictures would smear, and he would draw new ones.”

MemoriesLonelinessNostalgiaPast Life
Book:Empires of Sand by David Ball
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“Growing up it had been her entire world, an oasis where on hot summer afternoons they drank iced mint sherbets under a canopy of trees, and when the sun went down they ate juicy kebabs on three-feet-long skewers. As the evening wore on, they lit lanterns and the yard acquired depth like a stage. The waiters wheeled out a three-tiered chariot of fruit compotes, rum babas, crème caramel, and charlotte russe, with bottles of liqueurs and digestifs glowing on the lower shelf. Soon after, the music would start. Noor sat on her grandmother's lap, spooning pistachio ice cream into her mouth with vanilla wafers, while Pari serenaded them.”

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Book:The Last Days of Café Leila
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“Your actions bind you, because you think that you are the actions. Actions bind you, because you think that you are the doer. The "I", the ego, behind the actions goes on binding you to those actions. Through countless past lives this feeling of being the doer has become strengthened. You think that you are a great doer, while in reality there is no other doer than existence. How can you drop this attachments and karma? If someone becomes conscious that he is not the doer of the actions - all actions are the will of the whole and he is only a flute in existence hands. In that moment he is free of karma. If the bondage of karma is not destroyed, there is no freedom. A meditator says: Now I am not doing anything, everything is done by existence. If someone receives this insight both the bondage of present karma and the bondage of all past karma will vanish. Karma can be dissolved only when cut from the root - and the root is the ego, the sense of that "I" am doing. So the doer, the "I", has to dissolve. It is not necessary to focus on the actions, only the "I", the ego, has to be dissolved. Whenever there is a feeling that "I am doing this", remember that your are only the seer, the witness. Be a watcher. Whenever the feeling of "I" is there shift it to the watcher.”

TruthSpiritualityMeditationKarmaPast LifePast Life ExperiencesPast Life QuotesAwarenssReinkarnation
Book:When the Drop becomes the Ocean
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“Once upon a time I'd left Los Angeles and been swallowed down the throat of a life in which my sole loyalty was to my tongue. My belly. Myself. My mother called me selfish and so selfish I became. From nineteen to twenty-five I was a mouth, sating. For myself I made three-day braises and chose the most marbled meats, I played loose with butter and cream. My arteries were young, my life pooling before me, and I lapped, luxurious, from it. I drank, smoked, flew cheap red-eyes around Europe, I lived in thrilling shitholes, I found pills that made nights pass in a blink or expanded time to a soap bubble, floating, luminous, warm. Time seemed infinite, then. I begged famous chefs for the chance to learn from them. I entered competitions and placed in a few. I volunteered to work brunch, turn artichokes, clean the grease trap. I flung my body at all of it: the smoke and singe of the grill station, a duck's breast split open like a geode, two hundred oysters shucked in the walk-in, sex in the walk-in, drunken rides around Paris on a rickety motorcycle and no helmet, a white truffle I stole and shaved in secret over a bowl of Kraft mac n' cheese for me, just me, as my body strummed the high taut selfish song of youth. On my twenty-fifth birthday I served black-market fugu to my guests, the neurotoxin stinging sweetly on my lips as I waited to see if I would, by eating, die. At that age I believed I knew what death was: a thrill, like brushing by a friend who might become a lover.”

SelfishHungryChefAutobiographyPast LifePlaying With FireFuguImpulsive BehaviorWasted YouthGluttonous
Book:Land of Milk and Honey
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“His deep voice drifted to her through the crowd of women. “…my lady when she returns. Och, there ye are, Blossom,” Faolán grinned, standing up and taking her hand so she could ease back into the restaurant booth. “These lasses were just asking if I was a stripper. I told them I doona think so,” he said, his face clouded with uncertainty. “I’m not, am I?” The inquisitive lasses in question flushed scarlet and scattered to the four corners of the room at the murderous look on Colleen’s face. “No, you’re not, but I guess I can see how they’d think that,” she muttered darkly. “What you are is a freaking estrogen magnet.”

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Book:Rogue on the Rollaway
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“Submitted for your approval--the curious case of Colleen O’Brien and the gorgeous time traveling Scot who landed in her living room.” – Rod Serling”

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Book:Rogue on the Rollaway
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“You turn the lights on and off here and if you can’t sleep and want something to read there are books in the living room…” her voice broke off. “Wait. Can you read?” His chin took a slight tilt upward. “Aye,” Faolán replied, his voice cool, “in English, Gaelic, Latin, or French. My Welsh is a bit rusty, and I doona remember any of the Greek I was taught except for words not fit for a lady’s ears. I can also count all the way up to…” He looked down and wiggled his large bare toes, “…twenty.” – Faolán MacIntyre”

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Book:Rogue on the Rollaway
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“Och, lass. Yer going to have to not do that.” Faolán exhaled. “Creeping up on a man is a dangerous thing, and I confess I’m jumpier than most. Yer feet are soft as a cat’s.” “I wasn’t creeping anywhere, I was going to make coffee and this is my house, I’ll creep anywhere I like,” Colleen muttered with a petulant scowl. “But I wasn’t creeping.”

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Book:Rogue on the Rollaway
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“Refusing to lean back against him, Colleen sat ramrod straight until they reached the road. “I guess I should say thank you for saving my life,” she muttered then turned and slapped Faolán hard across the face. “And that’s for you having to save it in the first place. And I’m not your woman, you big, arrogant, lying, betraying…faery loving…” She searched for the perfect insult and couldn’t find one, “…Scot.” She gave a very unladylike snort. “Happy now? That fiery enough for you?”

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Book:Rogue on the Rollaway
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“Good parents use the mistakes they did in the past when they were young to advice the children God gave to them to prevent them from repeating those mistakes again. However, bad parents always want to be seen as right and appear "angelic and saintly" as if they never had horrible youth days.”

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Author:Israelmore Ayivor
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