Miguel de Cervantes Quotes
The pen is the tongue of the soul; as are the thoughts engendered there, so will be the things written.
Miguel de Cervantes
Quotes to Explore
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We love in another's soul whatever of ourselves we can deposit in it; the greater the deposit, the greater the love.
Irving Layton
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I listen to crazy, robust rock music where they sing their faces off, and soul music, which can be similar.
Adam Lambert
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I met in the street a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, his cloak was out at the elbows, the water passed through his shoes, - and the stars through his soul.
Victor Hugo
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I'm an old-school, embarrassing Joni Mitchell fan. Her music made a hook in my soul and hasn't let go for all these years. I even sing her songs as lullabies to my kids.
Edie Falco
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It is not the soul alone that should be healthy; if the mind is healthy in a healthy body, all will be healthy and much better prepared to give God greater service.
Saint Ignatius
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No real English gentleman, in his secret soul, was ever sorry for the death of a political economist.
Walter Bagehot
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A swami may conceivably follow only the path of dry reasoning, of cold renunciation; but a yogi engages himself in a definite, step-by-step procedure by which the body and mind are disciplined, and the soul liberated.
Paramahansa Yogananda
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There is a brief moment when all there is in a man's mind and soul and spirit is reflected through his eyes, his hands, his attitude. This is the moment to record.
Yousuf Karsh
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One day he said: For the soul there is a satisfaction of a higher type; the material is not at all necessary. Whether I apply mathematics to a couple of clods of dirt, which we call planets, or to purely arithmetical problems, it s just the same; the latter have only a higher charm for me.
Carl Friedrich Gauss
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Circles, like the soul, are neverending and turn round and round without a stop
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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But our love it was stronger by far than the loveOf those who were older than we - Of many far wiser than we - And neither the angels in Heaven aboveNor the demons down under the seaCan ever dissever my soul from the soulOf the beautiful Annabel Lee
Edgar Allan Poe
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The soul has no assignments, neither cooks Nor referees: it wastes its time. It wastes its time.Here in this enclave there are centuries For you to waste: the short and narrow stream Of life meanders into a thousand valleys Of all that was, or might have been, or is to be. The books, just leafed through, whisper endlessly.
Randall Jarrell
