Related Quotes

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Richard Feynman, fully Richard Phillips Feynman

There are all kinds of interesting questions that come from a knowledge of science, which only adds to the excitement and mystery and awe of a flower. It only adds. I don't understand how it subtracts.

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Richard Jefferies, fully John Richard Jefferies

Let anyone who possesses a vivid imagination and a highly-wrought nervous system, even now, in this century, with all the advantages of learning and science, go and sit among the rocks, or in the depths of the wood, and think of immortality, and all that that word really means, and by-and-by a mysterious awe will creep into the mind, and it will half believe in the possibility of seeing or meeting something -- something -- it knows not exactly what.

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Richard Feynman, fully Richard Phillips Feynman

Scientific views end in awe and mystery, lost at the edge in uncertainty, but they appear to be so deep and so impressive that the theory that it is all arranged as a stage for God to watch man's struggle for good and evil seems inadequate.

Awe | Evil | God | Good | Struggle | God |

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Richard Feynman, fully Richard Phillips Feynman

I wanted very much to learn to draw, for a reason that I kept to myself: I wanted to convey an emotion I have about the beauty of the world. It's difficult to describe because it's an emotion. It's analogous to the feeling one has in religion that has to do with a god that controls everything in the whole universe: there's a generality aspect that you feel when you think about how things that appear so different and behave so differently are all run behind the scenes by the same organization, the same physical laws. It's an appreciation of the mathematical beauty of nature, of how she works inside; a realization that the phenomena we see result from the complexity of the inner workings between atoms; a feeling of how dramatic and wonderful it is. It's a feeling of awe

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Richard Feynman, fully Richard Phillips Feynman

I have a friend who's an artist and has sometimes taken a view which I don't agree with very well. He'll hold up a flower and say look how beautiful it is, and I'll agree. Then he says I as an artist can see how beautiful this is but you as a scientist take this all apart and it becomes a dull thing, and I think that he's kind of nutty. First of all, the beauty that he sees is available to other people and to me too, I believe. Although I may not be quite as refined aesthetically as he is ... I can appreciate the beauty of a flower. At the same time, I see much more about the flower than he sees. I could imagine the cells in there, the complicated actions inside, which also have a beauty. I mean it's not just beauty at this dimension, at one centimeter; there's also beauty at smaller dimensions, the inner structure, also the processes. The fact that the colors in the flower evolved in order to attract insects to pollinate it is interesting; it means that insects can see the color. It adds a question: does this aesthetic sense also exist in the lower forms? Why is it aesthetic? All kinds of interesting questions which the science knowledge only adds to the excitement, the mystery and the awe of a flower. It only adds. I don't understand how it subtracts.

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Richard Wright, fully Richard Nathaniel Wright

My mother's suffering grew into a symbol in my mind, gathering to itself all the poverty, the ignorance, the helplessness; the painful, baffling, hunger-ridden days and hours; the restless moving, the futile seeking, the uncertainty, the fear, the dread; the meaningless pain and the endless suffering. Her life set the emotional tone of my life, colored the men and women I was to meet in the future, conditioned my relation to events that had not yet happened, determined my attitude to situations and circumstances I had yet to face. A somberness of spirit that I was never to lose settled over me during the slow years of my mother's unrelieved suffering, a somberness that was to make me stand apart and look upon excessive joy with suspicion, that was to make me keep forever on the move, as though to escape a nameless fate seeking to overtake me. At the age of twelve, before I had one year of formal schooling, I had a conception of life that no experience would ever erase, a predilection for what was real that no argument could ever gainsay, a sense of the world that was mine and mine alone, a notion as to what life meant that no education could ever alter, a conviction that the meaning of living came only when one was struggling to wring a meaning out of meaningless suffering. At the age of twelve I had an attitude toward life that was to endure, that was to make me seek those areas of living that would keep it alive, that was to make me skeptical of everything while seeking everything, tolerant of all and yet critical. The spirit I had caught gave me insight into the sufferings of others, made me gravitate toward those whose feelings were like my own, made me sit for hours while others told me of their lives, made me strangely tender and cruel, violent and peaceful. It made me want to drive coldly to the heart of every question and it open to the core of suffering I knew I would find there. It made me love burrowing into psychology, into realistic and naturalistic fiction and art, into those whirlpools of politics that had the power to claim the whole of men's souls. It directed my loyalties to the side of men in rebellion; it made me love talk that sought answers to questions that could help nobody, that could only keep alive in me that enthralling sense of wonder and awe in the face of the drama of human feeling which is hidden by the external drama of life.

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Richard Wright, fully Richard Nathaniel Wright

It made me love talk that sought answers to questions that could help nobody, that could only keep alive in me that enthralling sense of wonder and awe in the face of the drama of human feeling which is hidden by the external drama of life.

Awe | Love | Sense | Wonder |

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Richard Nixon, fully Richard Milhous Nixon

The lesson of all history warns us that we should negotiate only when our military superiority is so convincing that we can achieve our objective at the conference table, and deny the aggressor theirs.

History | Lesson | Superiority |

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Robertson Davies

The logical thing to do, when the next war comes, is to recruit an army from all those of whatever age or sex who are unable to pass certain basic intelligence tests. This would be a good way of getting rid of a lot of the stupid people who cumber the earth; probably there would be a high percentage of scientists, Civil Servants, uplifters and minor prophets in an armed force collected in such a way. But if every country adopted this method the country with the biggest population of boobs, yahoos and ninnies would win, and I am not entirely sure that we have overall superiority in this respect, though we seem bound in that direction.

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Robertson Davies

I once had a dispute with a group of Swedish professors at the University of Uppsala as to which country, Sweden or Canada, was the dullest in the world. It was a draw; they claimed superiority because of their long history, and I claimed it because of Canada's immense land mass, which gives us space for tremendous expansion, even of such things as dullness.

Dispute | Land | Space | Superiority |

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Robert Browning

For the preacher's merit or demerit, It were to be wished that the flaws were fewer In the earthen vessel, holding treasure, But the main thing is, does it hold good measure Heaven soon sets right all other matters!

Good | Heaven | Merit | Right |

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Robert Service, fully Robert William Service

It's good the great green earth to roam, Where sights of awe the soul inspire; But oh, it's best, the coming home, The crackle of one's own hearth-fire! You've hob-nobbed with the solemn Past; You've seen the pageantry of kings; Yet oh, how sweet to gain at last The peace and rest of Little Things! Perhaps you're counted with the Great; You strain and strive with mighty men; Your hand is on the helm of State; Colossus-like you stride . . . and then There comes a pause, a shining hour, A dog that leaps, a hand that clings: O Titan, turn from pomp and power; Give all your heart to Little Things. Go couch you childwise in the grass, Believing it's some jungle strange, Where mighty monsters peer and pass, Where beetles roam and spiders range. 'Mid gloom and gleam of leaf and blade, What dragons rasp their painted wings! O magic world of shine and shade! O beauty land of Little Things! I sometimes wonder, after all, Amid this tangled web of fate, If what is great may not be small, And what is small may not be great. So wondering I go my way, Yet in my heart contentment sings . . . O may I ever see, I pray, God's grace and love in Little Things. So give to me, I only beg, A little roof to call my own, A little cider in the keg, A little meat upon the bone; A little garden by the sea, A little boat that dips and swings . . . Take wealth, take fame, but leave to me, O Lord of Life, just Little Things.

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Robert Burns, aka Rabbie Burns, Scotland's favourite son, the Ploughman Poet, Robden of Solway Firth, the Bard of Ayrshire and in Scotland as simply The Bard

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, The fate of empires and the fall of kings; While quacks of State must each produce his plan, And even children lisp the Rights of Man; Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention, The Rights of Woman merit some attention.

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Robert Frost

The Trial By Existence - Even the bravest that are slain Shall not dissemble their surprise On waking to find valor reign, Even as on earth, in paradise; And where they sought without the sword Wide fields of asphodel fore’er, To find that the utmost reward Of daring should be still to dare. The light of heaven falls whole and white And is not shattered into dyes, The light for ever is morning light; The hills are verdured pasture-wise; The angel hosts with freshness go, And seek with laughter what to brave;— And binding all is the hushed snow Of the far-distant breaking wave. And from a cliff-top is proclaimed The gathering of the souls for birth, The trial by existence named, The obscuration upon earth. And the slant spirits trooping by In streams and cross- and counter-streams Can but give ear to that sweet cry For its suggestion of what dreams! And the more loitering are turned To view once more the sacrifice Of those who for some good discerned Will gladly give up paradise. And a white shimmering concourse rolls Toward the throne to witness there The speeding of devoted souls Which God makes his especial care. And none are taken but who will, Having first heard the life read out That opens earthward, good and ill, Beyond the shadow of a doubt; And very beautifully God limns, And tenderly, life’s little dream, But naught extenuates or dims, Setting the thing that is supreme. Nor is there wanting in the press Some spirit to stand simply forth, Heroic in its nakedness, Against the uttermost of earth. The tale of earth’s unhonored things Sounds nobler there than ’neath the sun; And the mind whirls and the heart sings, And a shout greets the daring one. But always God speaks at the end: ’One thought in agony of strife The bravest would have by for friend, The memory that he chose the life; But the pure fate to which you go Admits no memory of choice, Or the woe were not earthly woe To which you give the assenting voice.’ And so the choice must be again, But the last choice is still the same; And the awe passes wonder then, And a hush falls for all acclaim. And God has taken a flower of gold And broken it, and used therefrom The mystic link to bind and hold Spirit to matter till death come. ‘Tis of the essence of life here, Though we choose greatly, still to lack The lasting memory at all clear, That life has for us on the wrack Nothing but what we somehow chose; Thus are we wholly stripped of pride In the pain that has but one close, Bearing it crushed and mystified.

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Salomon ibn Gabirol, aka Solomon ben Judah or Avicebron

FOR A MARRIAGE - Send to the prince’s daughter Her ruddy, fair-eyed king, Like a fruitful branch he blossoms, Transplanted to a spring. Thy Torah has his worship, He runs, to taste its charms, Before Thee like a warrior, Accoutred in his arms. I day by day am waiting Salvation’s promised day, Enquiring how and whence it Will come to be my stay. Restore the tortured People To the friend of her youth divine, And bring the two together To the house of joy and wine.

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Salomon ibn Gabirol, aka Solomon ben Judah or Avicebron

Lord, what is man but flesh and blood? O weep! His days unconscious stray, like shadows sweep, His stroke comes sudden and he falls on sleep. Lord, what is man? A carcase fouled and trodden, A noxious creature brimming with deceit, A fading flow’r that shrivels in the heat. Wert Thou as stern as he with sin is sodden, How could he face Thy wrath? Ah, see him creep: His stroke comes sudden and he falls on sleep. Lord, what is man? He rolls in mud and lies, Insanely fouls the clean and spoils the fine. Did but Thy justice follow his design, Mown like the grass were he, or herb that dies. In doom’s dark hour be then Thy pity deep, His stroke comes sudden and he falls on sleep. Lord, what is man? Proud, born in sin, defiant, His drink is violence and on wrong he feeds. Sea-tossed and furnace-fierce, if judged by deeds He would be crushed like weakling fighting giant. Thy mercy therefore let his prayer reap, His stroke comes sudden and he falls on sleep. Lord, what is man? A trickster vile, abhorred. If Thou shouldst deal with him in equity, A mouldered robe, a scattered cloud were he. Therefore forgiveness is his best award. His base is dust, his form a clayey heap, His stroke comes sudden and he falls on sleep. Lord, what is man? A tree despoiled, mere stubble Its only fruit. Didst Thou his sin repay, He like a snail or wax would melt away. Therefore forgive, nor press him in his trouble. Moth-like he rots, old joys he can but weep, His stroke comes sudden and he falls on sleep. Lord, what is man? A lonely creature driven Like fallen leaf, bemocked by empty words, As full of guile as basket is of birds. His rottenness would swift as smoke be riven, Didst Thou his measure, not Thy measure keep. His stroke comes sudden and he falls on sleep.

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Salomon ibn Gabirol, aka Solomon ben Judah or Avicebron

As the servant longs for the master’s hand, so craves the cantor’s soul, O extend Thy mercy upon him, rend his debt-recording scroll. "Unto Me return, then will I to thee"—were this Thy word unsaid, Like a captain humbled while at his post he now would droop his head. To Thy servant, Lord, Thou wilt surely ope the penitential way, May his fruit be sweet as he stands to lead our prayers to Thee to-day. As we watch our brother, behold, we note the grey that streaks his hair, And his heart a-swim in a sense of sin as praying stands he there. Let the fervent breath of Thy suppliant be witness for his heart, Let him but return to Thee this once, he never will depart.

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Salomon ibn Gabirol, aka Solomon ben Judah or Avicebron

My heart craves to praise Thee, But I am unable. Would my understanding Were as spacious as Solomon’s. Without it my wisdom As yet ill suffices For expounding Thy wonders And Thy deeds of beneficence Wrought for me and all mankind. Without Thee all’s hopeless, And where is the rock Sustaining, suspending The weight of the world? I am as one orphaned; Nay, on Thee I am cast. What then can I do But look to Thee, wait on Thee, In whose hand is the spirit Of all that is living, In whose hand is the breath Of all the creation?

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Salomon ibn Gabirol, aka Solomon ben Judah or Avicebron

Strayed in mid-youth, rouse up, nor sleep, for lo! The days of youth like clouds of smoke will pass. Ere evening falls, thou shalt be withered grass, Though morning saw thee like a lily blow. Why waste on ancestors a heated breath, Or note which progeny was Abraham’s? Whether his food be herbs or Bashan rams, Man, wretched wight, is on his way to death.

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Shantideva NULL

The hostile multitudes are vast as space What chance is there that all should be subdued? Let but this angry mind be overthrown And every foe is then and there destroyed All the suffering in the world comes from seeking pleasure for oneself. All the happiness in the world comes from seeking pleasure for others. As long as space abides and as long as the world abides, so long may I abide, destroying the sufferings of the world. Where would I possibly find enough leather With which to cover the surface of the earth? But (just) leather on the soles of my shoes Is equivalent to covering the earth with it Likewise it is not possible for me To restrain the external course of things But should I restrain this mind of mine What would be the need to restrain all else? My body, thus, and all my good besides, And all my merits gained and to be gained, I give them all away withholding nothing To bring about the benefit of beings. All those who slight me to my face, Or do me any other evil, Even if they blame or slander me, May they attain the fortune of enlightenment! Take advantage of this human boat; Free yourself from sorrow’s mighty stream! This vessel will be later hard to find. The time that you have now, you fool, is not for sleep! Examine thus yourself from every side. Note harmful thoughts and every futile striving. Thus it is that heroes in the bodhisattva path Apply the remedies to keep a steady mind. Examine thus yourself from every side. Note harmful thoughts and every futile striving. Thus it is that heroes in the bodhisattva path Apply the remedies to keep a steady mind. Those who have no mental vigilance, Though they may hear the teachings, ponder them or meditate, With minds like water seeping from a leaking jug, Their learning will not settle in their memories. Suffering also has its worth. Through sorrow, pride is driven out And pity felt for those who wander in samsara; Evil is avoided, goodness seems delightful. May I be like a guard for those who are protectorless, A guide for those who journey on the road. For those who wish to go across the water, May I be a boat, a raft, a bridge. And so let beings do to me Whatever does not bring them injury. Whenever they catch sight of me, Let this not fail to bring them benefit. For sentient beings, poor and destitute, May I become a treasure ever plentiful, And lie before them closely in their reach, A varied source of all that they might need. As a blind man feels when he finds a pearl in a dustbin, so am I amazed by the miracles of awakening rising in my consciousness. It is the nectar of immortality that delivers us from death, the treasure that lifts us from death, the treasure that lifts us above poverty into the wealth of giving to life, the tree that gives shade to us when we roam about scorched by life, the bridge that takes us across the stormy river of life, the cool moon of compassion that calms our mind when it is agitated, the fun that dispels darkness, the butter made from the milk of kindness by churning it with the dharma. It is a feast of joy to which all are invited. All that I possess and use Is like the fleeting vision of a dream. It fades into the realms of memory; And fading, will be seen no more. Nothing that has passed can be regained. How much suffering and fear, and How many harmful things are in existence? If all arises from clinging to the “I”, What should I do with this great demon? Exchanging Self and Other.

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