Sirens Quotes
The best sayings about Sirens that you can share on Instagram, Pinterest, Facebook and other social networks!
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Take care of the people, and God Almighty will take care of Himself.
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Labor is rest--from the sorrow that greet us; Rest from all petty vexations that meet us, Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us, Rest from the world-sirens that hire us to ill. Work--and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow; Work--thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow; Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping willow! Work with a stout heart and resolute will!
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Stars open among the lilies. Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens? This is the silence of astounded souls.
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A young man's passion, a jaded siren's last chance for love, a world gone mad, cheap thrills, fast cars, expensive wines, the triumph of victory, the overthrow of ontologically incipient hegemony, and gum! I have no idea if this book has any of them! But I liked the part about the bunny.
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L.A. is such a big city, and theres so much going on. I mean, you know youre in L.A. when you can just hear sirens all the time.
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Caught between the longing for love, and the struggle for the legal tender, where the sirens sing and the church bells ring, and the junk man pounds his fender. Where the veterans dream of the fight, fast asleep at the traffic light, and the children solemnly wait for the ice cream vendor.
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Right at that moment it was as if we were the only two people left in the world. And I don't mean that to sound corny; it just honestly did. The only sounds were the droning crickets and chip-chips of the bats, the farawy wind against the sand, and the occasional distant yowl of a dingo. There were no car horns.No trains. No jack-hammers. No lawnmowers No planes. No sirens. No alarms. No anything human. If you'd told me that you'd saved me from a nuclear holocaust, I might have believed you.
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I am thinking of the onion again. . . . Not self-righteous like the proletarian potato, nor a siren like the apple. No show-off like the banana. But a modest, self-effacing vegetable, questioning, introspective, peeling itself away, or merely radiating halos like ripples.
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The sirens sing sotto voce these days, and the young already have enough wax in their ears to pass them by without danger.
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Of pure poetry there are two kinds, that which mirrors the beauty of the world in which our bodies are, and that which builds the more mysterious kingdoms where geography ends and fairyland begins, with gods and heroes at war, and the sirens singing still, and Alph going down to the darkness from Xanadu.
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Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red firetruck moving tense unheeded to gong clangs siren howls and wheels rumbling through the dark city.
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We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang.
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The purely Great Whose soul no siren passion could unsphere, Thou nameless, now a power and mixed with fate.
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Postmodernism entices us with the siren call of liberation and creativity, but it may be an invitation to intellectual and moral suicide.
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Tomorrow I will curse the dawn, but there will be other, earlier nights, and the dawns will be no longer hell laid out in alarms and raw bells and sirens.
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As I look back, I feel a touch of pride at my younger self's dedication to literature, which gave him the strength of mind to resist the blandishments of the enemies of promise. The sirens of ad-land sang sweetly and seductively, but I thought of Odysseus lashing himself to the mast of his ship, and somehow stayed on course.
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I worry that, especially as the Millennium edges nearer, pseudo-science and superstition will seem year by year more tempting, the siren song of unreason more sonorous and attractive.
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Pleasure was a siren, luring her to experience more
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Sometimes I think it is a great mistake to have matter that can think and feel. It complains so. By the same token, though, I suppose that boulders and mountains and moons could be accused of being a little too phlegmatic.
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The world allured me & in an unguarded moment I listened to her siren voice. From that moment I seemed to lose interest in heavenly things. Friends reasoned with me & told me of the danger I was in. I felt my danger & was alarmed, but I had rambled too far to return & ever since my heart has been growing harder.
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Because of the irresistible nature of our own Imagos, I think the replication of it in music is a siren song - we love those tormented songs, and we listen to them over and over and over the way that we smash ourselves into our lovers, or the same kind of lover, over and over. That drive is tireless, until it is resolved. And we can "enjoy" it safely through music, which is a simulacrum we have power over.
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The triumph of anything is a matter of organization.
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Scheherazade, of course, was always in the back of my mind, because she's also a storyteller identified as female who tells a lot of anti-female stories. There's a parade in The Arabian Nights of sorceresses, adulteresses, ghouls, sirens, harridans.
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It is natural to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes to that siren until she allures us to our death.
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Sometimes I think that no situation actually fits the technical definition of irony, and that the word just sort of hangs out in the linguistic ether singing a Siren song that's designed to crash the unsuspecting against the jagged rocks of pedantry.
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We both grew up in the atmosphere of struggle, both Ossie and me, ... I come out of Harlem and Harlem comes out of me - wailing police sirens and street parties, rumors and landlords, that cultural, spiritual scene. And Ossie came up from the South, where struggle and dying were part of everyday life. That is who we are.
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Writers will see your work and want to try you in different things but I think you have to stay true to your vehicle. We all have a vehicle. Whether it's a thug, or a school child or the babyface or the sex siren or the video vin, whatever it is ride that until the wheels fall off and eventually, if you build your foundation then you can branch off.
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A city is where you can sign a petition, boo the chief justice, fish off a pier, gaze at a hippopotamus, buy a flower at the corner, or get a good hamburger or a bad girl at 4 A.M. A city is where sirens make white streaks of sound in the sky and foghorns speak in dark grays. San Francisco is such a city.
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Every man needs his Siren to check his courage and strength when he hears her song in his travels through the unknown.
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That whole thing of replicating what others do is a siren call. The sirens lure you to the rocks of unoriginality.
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