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Shrouds Quotes

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Shrouds Quotes

“Bursts as a wave that from the clouds impends, And swell'd with tempests on the ship descends; White are the decks with foam; the winds aloud Howl o'er the masts, and sing through every shroud: Pale, trembling, tir'd, the sailors freeze with fears; And instant death on every wave appears.”

WhiteWindCloudsWaveShipsInstantPaleSailorFreezeTremblingDeckTempestHowlFoamShroudsMastsStorm Clouds
Book:The Iliad of Homer. Translated by A. Pope. A new edition. Adorned with plates
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“Book burning is a charming old custom, hallowed by antiquity. It has been practiced for centuries by fascists, communists, atheists, school children, rival authors, and tired librarians. Like everything of importance since the invention of the cloak and the shroud, its origins are cloaked in mystery and shrouded in secrecy. Some scholars believe that the first instance of book burning occurred in the Middle Ages, when a monk was trying to illuminate a manuscript. All agree that book burning was almost non-existent during the period when books were made of stone.”

TryingFirstsBelieveChildrenHas BeensMadeBookAgeSchoolMysteryMiddleCenturyPeriodsStonesImportanceAgreeTiredAtheistInventionInstanceBurningCustomsCommunistScholarCharmingMonkRivalsSecrecyMiddle AgesLibrarianFascistsAntiquityManuscriptsCloaksShroudsBook Burning
Author:Richard Armour
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“I have found strength where one does not look for it: in simple, mild, and pleasant people, without the least desire to rule -- and, conversely, the desire to rule has often appeared to me a sign of inward weakness: they fear their own slave soul and shroud it in a royal cloak (in the end, they still become the slaves of their followers, their fame, etc.)”

PeopleLooksDoeStillsSoulEndsDesireFoundSimpleFameWeaknessSlavePleasantEtcFollowersInwardRoyalCloaksShrouds
Book:Nietzsche: Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist
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“Truth, acceptance of the truth, is a shattering experience. It shatters the binding shroud of culture trance. It rips apart smugness, arrogance, superiority, and self-importance. It requires acknowledgment of responsibility for the nature and quality of each of our own lives, our own inner lives as well as the life of the world. Truth, inwardly accepted, humbling truth, makes one vulnerable. You can't be right, self-righteous, and truthful at the same time.”

WorldWellsSelfTruthCultureQualityResponsibilityAcceptanceTruth IsImportanceAcceptedVulnerableArroganceRighteousTruthfulSuperiorityRipInner LifeBindingHumblingSelf RighteousTranceAcknowledgmentSelf-importanceShatteringShroudsSmugness
Book:Off the Reservation: Reflections on Boundary-busting Border-crossing Loose Canons
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“I come from down south, where vegetation does not know its place. Honeysuckle can work through cracks in your walls and strangle you while you sleep. Kudzu can completely shroud a house and a car parked in the yard in one growing season. Wisteria can lift a building off its foundation, and certain terrifying mints spread so rapidly that just the thought of them on a summer night can make your hair stand on end.”

KnowsDoeEndsNightCertainHouseSleepGrowingCarBuildingHairWallSummerSeasonsFoundationSouthSpreadLiftsCracksYardsMintShroudsVegetationSummer NightsYour WallWisteria
Author:Bailey White
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“Chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-covered quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave, And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble; And I will do it without Fear or Doubt, To live an unstain'd Wife of my sweet Love.”

MenMadeHouseDoubtWifeSweetBearsBonesGravesChainsCoveredYellowFidelitySkullsDead ManSweet LoveRoaringShroudsShank
Book:Romeo and Juliet
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“Bodies of holy men and women exude Miraculous oil, odour of violet. But under heavy loads of trampled clay Lie bodies of the vampires full of blood; Their shrouds are bloody and their lips are wet.”

MenBodyTruthLyingViolenceBloodHolyMen And WomenLipsHeavyOilVampireWetLoadBloodyVioletClayMiraculousShroudsHoly ManHeavy Loads
Book:The Collected Works of W.B. Yeats Volume I: The Poems: Revised Second Edition
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“It is not however, adulthood itself, but parenthood that forms the glass shroud of memory. For there is an interesting quirk in the memory of women. At 30, women see their adolescence quite clearly. At 30 a woman's adolescence remains a facet fitting into her current self.... At 40, however, memories of adolescence are blurred. Women of this age look much more to their earlier childhood for memories of themselves and of their mothers. This links up to her typical parenting phase.”

LooksSelfAgeFormMotherWomenMemoriesInterestingChildhoodRemainsGlassesCurrentsLinksParenthoodAdulthoodPhasesAdolescenceTypicalFittingFacetsQuirksShrouds
Author:Terri E Apter
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“An unfolding technology has increased our economic strength and added to the convenience of our lives. But that same technology-we know now-carries danger with it. From the great smoke stacks of industry and from the exhausts of motors and machines, 130 million tons of soot, carbon and grime settle over the people and shroud the Nation's cities each year. From towns, factories, and stockyards, wastes pollute our rivers and streams, endangering the waters we drink and use.”

PeopleKnowsYearsUseNationsWaterCitiesMillionsTechnologyOur LivesEconomicDangerIndustryDrinkWasteRiversMachinesTownsEnvironmentalSmokeSettlingStreamsCarrieFactoriesPollutionCarbonConvenienceMotorUnfoldingShroudsGrime
Author:Lyndon B. Johnson
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“We are to remember what an umpire Nature is; what a greatness, composure of depth and tolerance there is in her. You take wheat to cast into the Earth's bosom; your wheat may be mixed with chaff, chopped straw, barn-sweepings, dust and all imaginable rubbish; no matter: you cast it into the kind just Earth; she grows the wheat, - the whole rubbish she silently absorbs, shrouds it in, says nothing of the rubbish.”

KindMayMatterWholeEarthRememberGrowsGreatnessDepthCastsToleranceDustBosomsUmpiresRubbishWheatStrawsSweepingBarnsComposureShrouds
Book:On Heroes, Hero-worship and the Heroic in History
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“... photography is an imprint or transfer off the real; it is a photochemically processed trace causally connected to the thing in the world to which it refers in a manner parallel to fingerprints or footprints or the rings of water that cold glasses leave on tables. The photograph is thus generically distinct from painting or sculpture or drawing. On the family tree of images it is closer to palm prints, death masks, the Shroud of Turin, or the tracks of gulls on beaches.”

WorldRealWaterTreePaintingColdPhotographyTablesPhotographGlassesTrackConnectedDrawingRingsBeachMaskPrintPalmsSculptureParallelsTransfersFootprintFingerprintsShroudsGulls
Author:Rosalind E. Krauss
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“We measure our presence in generations; we cannot dig down ten thousand years and find our bones. Our arrival is scribed upon the line of history; it does not drift upon the winds of story, or float upon the shrouds of myth. We are still explorers and discoverers, seeking meaning through movement and examination. But we are coming to a time of listening. Our sweat and breath are now upon this land. Voices rise up, and we begin to hear the echoes in the stones.”

YearsDoeStillsStoriesVoiceLinesGenerationsLandMovementWindListeningThousandTenStonesBreathsSeekingBonesMythSweatEchoesThousand YearsFloatsExaminationArrivalsExplorersShrouds
Book:A Haunting Reverence: Meditations on a Northern Land
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“A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and flagrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway.”

LastsNightHoursWhiteFlowerWasteLaysRoseSpreadWoodsStormSnowForestsIceApplesTwelveFrozenLast NightJuneCrushedLanesRipeDecemberFrostGroveNorwayShroudsMidsummerTropics
Book:Jane Eyre (World Classics, Unabridged)
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“But something occurred to me as I sped through that dirty shroud of fog, something Vonnegut has been trying to explain to the rest of us for most of his life. And that is this: Despair is a form of hope. It is an acknowledgment of the distance between ourselves and our appointed happiness. At certain moments, it is reason enough to live.”

TryingHas BeensReasonEnoughMomentsFormCertainDespairDistanceDirtyFogAcknowledgmentShroudsSped
Book:(Not that You Asked): Rants, Exploits, and Obsessions
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“When the starry sky, a vista of open seas, or a stained-glass window shedding purple beams fascinate me, there is a cluster of meaning, of colors, of words, of caresses, there are light touches, scents, sighs, cadences that arise, shroud me, carry me away, and sweep me beyond the things I see, hear, or think, The "sublime" object dissolves in the raptures of a bottomless memory. It is such a memory, which, from stopping point to stopping point, remembrance to remembrance, love to love, transfers that object to the refulgent point of the dazzlement in which I stray in order to be.”

ThinkingLightOrderMemoriesSeaSkyObjectsColorWindowGlassesAriseScentSublimeRemembranceStoppingSighPurpleTransfersBeamRaptureCaressVistasCadenceClustersShroudsStained GlassStarry SkyStained Glass Windows
Author:Julia Kristeva
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“Come away, come away, Death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it! My part of death no one so true did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strewn: Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O where Sad true lover never find my grave, to weep there!”

BlackWhitePoorShareSweetFlowerLoversThousandFairsLet MeBreathsLaysBonesStuckGravesThrownSighCorpsesMaidsCoffinsFly AwayShroudsTrue LoversCypressesTwelfth Night ImportantYew
Author:William Shakespeare
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“We think of women at every age: while still children, we fondle with a naïve sensuality the breasts of those grown-up girls kissing us and cuddling us in their arms; at the age of ten, we dream of love; at fifteen, love comes along; at sixty, it is still with us, and if dead men in their tombs have any thought in their heads, it is how to make their way underground to the nearby grave, lift the shroud of the dear departed women, and mingle with her in her sleep”

IfsThinkingMenWayLoveChildrenStillsDreamAgeGirlSleepArmsTenKissingDearGravesSensualityLiftsBreastsSixtyFifteenTombsDead ManDepartedShroudsCuddling
Book:November: Fragments in a Nondescript Style
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“Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try to break them. Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed. I am certain that priceless wealth is in thee, and that thou art my best friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel that fills my room. The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death; I hate it, yet hug it in love. My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet when I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted.”

WantFeelsTryingHeartArtCertainHateAsksFearWealthPrayerRoomsSecretBreakMy HeartI HateShameHeavyDebtDustGrantedTheeAshamedHugAcheMy Best FriendPricelessObstinateShroudsHeart AcheTinselQuakeMy Heart Aches
Book:Gitanjali - Song Offerings
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“The boy was lying, fast asleep, on a rude bed upon the floor; so pale with anxiety, and sadness, and the closeness of his prison, that he looked like death; not death as it shews in shroud and coffin, but in the guise it wears when life has just departed; when a young and gentle spirit has, but an instant, fled to Heaven: and the gross air of the world has not had time to breathe upon the changing dust it hallowed.”

WorldYoungSpiritLyingHeavenBoysAirSadnessBedAnxietyPrisonBreatheDustGentleInstantPaleRudeGrossClosenessCoffinsGuiseDepartedShroudsGentle Spirit
Book:Oliver Twist: Classic English Literature
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“THERE IS NO mystery to happiness. Unhappy men are alike. Some wound they suffered long ago, some wish denied, some blow to pride, some kindling spark of love put out by scorn--or worse, indifference--cleaves to them, or they to it, and so they live each day within a shroud of yesterdays. The happy man does not look back. He doesn't look ahead. He lives in the present.”

MenLooksLongDoeWishMysteryPrideBlowWoundsYesterdayUnhappyIndifferenceEach DaySparksDeniedLong AgoScornLive In The PresentHappy ManShroudsLive Each DayKindling
Book:The Interpretation of Murder
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“It all began, as I have said, when the Boss, sitting in the black Cadillac which sped through the night, said to me (to Me who was what Jack Burden, the student of history, had grown up to be) "There is always something." And I said, "Maybe not on the Judge." And he said, "Man is conceived in sin and born in corruption and he passeth from the stink of the didie to the stench of the shroud. There is always something.”

MenSaidNightBlackBornSinStudentsJudgingSittingBurdenCorruptionBossStinkShroudsCadillacsSped
Book:All the King's Men
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“We mustn't claim to stand for our King but then deny Him by living a fleshly existence. Our King's Mighties don't shy away from the blazing searchlight of God's Word, but rather, willingly expose their souls and cry, 'Dear King, if there be anything that stands between You and me, if there be anything that shrouds Your glory, if there be anything that will weaken my sword in battle, purge it, slay it, utterly destroy it!”

IfsSoulExistenceCryKingsBattleGloryClaimsDearDenyShyBlazingShroudsBetween You And Me
Book:Wrestling Prayer: A Passionate Communion with God
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