Quote for Today: Loren Eiseley
We are rag dolls made out of many ages and skins, changelings who have slept in wood nests or hissed in the uncouth guise of waddling amphibians. We have played …
We are rag dolls made out of many ages and skins, changelings who have slept in wood nests or hissed in the uncouth guise of waddling amphibians. We have played …
Dizzy and cold, the stars are wearing veils of grief and weeping as if over me. Under such a sky the only sense I have of myself is senselessness—the indiscriminate …
Night was falling. Birds were singing. Birds were, it occurred to me to say, enacting a frantic celebration of day’s end. They were manifesting as the earth’s bright-colored nerve endings, …
The world rests in the night. Trees, mountains, fields, and faces are released from the prison of shape and the burden of exposure. Each thing creeps back into its own …
In the dark I rest, unready for the light which dawns day after day, eager to be shared. Black silk, shelter me. I need more of the night before I …
From an unfathomable primordial source, interior being [innern], the soul’s difficult-to-comprehend forms climb into the light of consciousness where they dissolve again like all genuine creations of the night. …
But that long day ends at last; yields to the night-time of the flood. And, just as the waters of the ocean come flooding, darkening over the pools, so over George …
– Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night. —Carl Sandburg, The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg – Image …
Our fantastic civilization has fallen out of touch with many aspects of nature, and with none more completely than with night. Primitive folk, gathered at a cave mouth round …
For five days the city had wilted under a hard sky, sweltering in a temperature that stayed fixed in the middle nineties. Even at night there was no relief from …