This site is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Alan William Smolowe who gave birth to the creation of this database.
When you see a hand from afar, Kimya, can you do that there is only one school. But you dive into the water, you realize that there is more than a river. The river is hidden inside various currents and they all run in harmony, yet are completely separate from one another.
Belief | Books | Destroy | Force | God | Good | Insanity | Knowledge | Life | Life | Man | Need | People | Philosophy | Religion | Taste | Time | Words | God | Understand |
What is the point of Roaming the world When it's the Same Everywhere misery?
Books | Love | People | Selfishness |
Elizabeth Browning, fully Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Measure not the work until the day's out and the labour done, then bring your gauges.
There's a wonderful old Italian joke about a poor man who goes to church every day and prays before the statue of a great saint, begging, Dear saint-please, please, please...give me the grace to win the lottery. This lament goes on for months. Finally the exasperated staue comes to life, looks down at the begging man and says in weary disgust, My son-please, please, please...buy a ticket. Prayer is a realtionship; half the job is mine. If I want transformation, but can't even be bothered to articulate what, exactly, I'm ainming for, how will it ever occur? Half the benefit of prayer is in the asking itself, in the offering of a clearly posed and well-considered intention. If you don't have this, all your pleas and desires are boneless, floppy, inert; they swirl at your feet in a cold fog and never lift.
Belief | Books | Care | Decision | Destiny | Divinity | Faith | God | Life | Life | Meaning | Nature | Reason | Religion | Scripture | Will | God |
We have hands; we can stand on them if we want to. That's our privilege. That's the joy of a mortal body. And that's why God needs us. Because God loves to feel things through our hands.
That only a few, under any circumstances, protest against the injustice of long-established laws and customs, does not disprove the fact of the oppressions, while the satisfaction of the many, if real only proves their apathy and deeper degradation.
I don't care what is written about me so long as it isn't true.
You think you're frightening me with your hell, don't you? You think Yyur hell is worse than mine.
Books | Giving | Literature | Present | Trial |
Emil G. Hirsch, fully Emil Gustav Hirsch
Only they have to weep bitter tears who know what has come to them is the result of their foolish conduct, their ignorant way, their want of proper understanding of life and what love means.
Books | Character | Common Sense | Force | Righteousness | Rites | Salvation | Sense | System | World | Happiness |
Little Words when you are gone, there is nor bloom nor leaf, nor singing sea at night, nor silver birds; and I can only stare, and shape my grief in little words. I cannot conjure loveliness, to drown the bitter woe that racks my cords apart. The weary pen that sets my sorrow down feeds at my heart. There is no mercy in the shifting year, no beauty wraps me tenderly about. I turn to little words- so you, my dear, can spell them out.
I'm never going to accomplish anything; that's perfectly clear to me. I'm never going to be famous. My name will never be writ large on the roster of Those Who Do Things. I don't do anything. Not one single thing. I used to bite my nails, but I don't even do that anymore.
Years and years to waken from that sleep in which the others loll; then years and years to scape that awakening...
Books |
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
I'm happiest when most away I can bear my soul from its home of clay on a windy night when the moon is bright aAnd the eye can wander through worlds of light— when I am not and none beside— nor earth nor sea nor cloudless sky—but only spirit wandering wide through infinite immensity.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
Nay, you'll be ashamed of me every day of your life, he answered; and the more ashamed, the more you know me; and I cannot bide it.
Books |