“And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon.”
Source: The Owl and the Pussycat
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Edward Lear 21
British artist, illustrator, author and poet 1812–1888Related quotes
Source: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values
Source: Stillpoints: An Introductory Guide to Haiku Painting (2008), p. 20
"Cloud", pp. 16–17
The Colour of Life and Other Essays (1896)
“Keep your hands open, and all the sands of the desert can pass through them.”
As quoted in Zen to Go (1989) by Jon Winokur, p. 126
Context: Keep your hands open, and all the sands of the desert can pass through them. Close them, and all you can feel is a bit of grit.
"Church Not Made With Hands"
A Pagan Place (1984)
Context: She is everywhere and noplace
Like a breath or like a wind
she moves among men
They would seek to hold her as a prize
But she is in the shadows,
the ocean and the sand
She is everywhere and noplace,
Her church not made with handsUncontained by man.
“On the moon we wore feathers in our hair, and rubies on our hands. On the moon we had gold spoons.”
Source: We Have Always Lived in the Castle
Book XLII: Ch. 18: A summary of the changes which have occurred around the globe in my lifetime
Mémoires d'outre-tombe (1848 – 1850)
Context: New storms will arise; one can believe in calamities to come which will surpass the afflictions we have been overwhelmed by in the past; already, men are thinking of bandaging their old wounds to return to the battlefield. However, I do not expect an imminent outbreak of war: nations and kings are equally weary; unforeseen catastrophe will not yet fall on France: what follows me will only be the effect of general transformation. No doubt there will be painful moments: the face of the world cannot change without suffering. But, once again, there will be no separate revolutions; simply the great revolution approaching its end. The scenes of tomorrow no longer concern me; they call for other artists: your turn, gentlemen!
As I write these last words, my window, which looks west over the gardens of the Foreign Mission, is open: it is six in the morning; I can see the pale and swollen moon; it is sinking over the spire of the Invalides, scarcely touched by the first golden glow from the East; one might say that the old world was ending, and the new beginning. I behold the light of a dawn whose sunrise I shall never see. It only remains for me to sit down at the edge of my grave; then I shall descend boldly, crucifix in hand, into eternity.