Quotes about nearness (15 Quotes)

His nearness made my senses spin

And then he was kissing her, and she was struck by his nearness, his solidity, his smell. It was of the garden and the earth and the sun. When Cassandra opened her eyes, she realized she was crying. She wasn't sad, though, these were the tears of being found, of having come home after a long time away.

Your nearness is the nearness of planets. I am the void between you. If I withdraw there will be no void for you to swim in.

Marriage is so unlike everything else. There is something even awful in the nearness it brings. Even if we loved someone else better than - than those we were married to, it would be no use. I mean, marriage drinks up all our power of giving or getting any blessedness in that sort of love. I know it may be very dear, but it murders our marriage, and then the marriage stays with us like a murder, and everything else is gone.

Vagueness is at times an indication of nearness to a perfect truth.

Besides, our nearness to the King in love
Is near the hate of those love not the King.

Nearness to nature... keeps the spirit sensitive to impressions not commonly felt and in touch with the unseen powers.

For this reason, strangers are not really conceived as individuals, but as strangers of a particular type: the element of distance is no less general in regard to them than the element of nearness.

Cultivate nearness with Me in the heart and it will be rewarded. Then you too will acquire a fraction of that Supreme Love.

The Image is not outside him, but within his being better still, it is his very being, the form of the divine Name which he himself brought with him in coming into being. And the circle of the dialectic of love closes on this fundamental experience 'Love is closer to the lover than is his jugular vein.' So excessive is this nearness that it acts at first as a veil. That is why the inexperienced novice, though dominated by the Image which invests his whole inner being, goes looking for it outside of himself, in a desperate search from form to form of the sensible world, until he returns to the sanctuary of his soul and perceives that the real Beloved is deep within his own being and, from that moment on, he seeks the Beloved only through the Beloved ... the active subject within him remains the inner image of unreal Beauty, a vestige of the transcendent or celestial counterpart of his being....

It is the great mystery of human life that old grief passes gradually into quiet, tender joy. The mild serenity of age takes the place of the riotous blood of youth. I bless the rising sun each day, and, as before, my heart sings to meet it, but now I love even more its setting, its long slanting rays and the soft, tender, gentle memories that come with them, the dear images from the whole of my long, happy lifeand over all the Divine Truth, softening, reconciling, forgiving My life is ending, I know that well, but every day that is left me I feel how my earthly life is in touch with a new infinite, unknown, but approaching life, the nearness of which sets my soul quivering with rapture, my mind glowing and my heart weeping with joy.

Perfect happiness, I believe, was never intended by the Deity to be the lot of one of his creatures in this world but that he has very much put in our power the nearness of our approaches to it is what I have steadfastly believed.

It was the best place to be, thought Wilbur, this warm delicious cellar, with the garrulous geese, the changing seasons, the heat of the sun, the passage of swallows, the nearness of rats, the sameness of sheep, the love of spiders, the smell of manure, and the glory of everything.

It is not merely the likeness which is precious... but the association and the sense of nearness involved in the thing... the fact of the very shadow of the person lying there fixed forever It is the very sanctification of portraits I think -- and it is not at all monstrous in me to say that I would rather have such a memorial of one I dearly loved, than the noblest Artist's work ever produced.

Is America a land of God where saints abide for ever Where golden fields spread fair and broad, where flows the crystal river Certainly not flush with saints, and a good thing, too, for the saints sent buzzing into man's ken now are but poor-mouthed ecclesiastical film stars and clichT-shouting publicity agents. Their little knowledge bringing them nearer to their ignorance, ignorance bringing them nearer to death, but nearness to death no nearer to God.