Honore de Balzac Quotes

But his heart was in a constant, turbulent riot.

Trying to find comfort in perpetual discomfort has been my life's work.

What showers arise, blown with the windy tempest of my heart

...but somehow the madness around me and the turmoil I carried within myself acted as counterweights, and I survived in the centre.

His heart, the war. Her face, the battlefield.

Somehow I understood without the storm I couldn't know myself.

Our age is one of transition, in which the normal channels for utilizing the daimonic are denied; and such ages tend to be times when the daimonic is expressed in its most destructive form.

We were out there with the people whose homes were flooded out in Southern Louisiana. We are out there on the front line with everyday people fighting the real frontline battle that real Americans are fighting.

There's a quickening of her heart when she sees him. She tells herself it's anger.

We rode on the winds of the rising storm, We ran to the sounds of the thunder. We danced among the lightning bolts, and tore the world asunder.

I am overrun, infested with a menagerie of desires.

Anger punishes the bearer's heart. Who remains angry suffers most. For many, the search for perfection virtually guarantees it will be found, and disregarded in order to continue the search. Some mornings it just doesn't seem worth it to gnaw through the leather straps.

Mind is a crowd of many desires; it is not a single desire. Mind is multi-psychic, and all the fragments are falling apart in different directions. It is a miracle how we go on keeping ourselves together; it is a hard struggle to keep oneself together. Somehow we manage, but that togetherness remains only on the surface. Deep down there is turmoil.

Philosophy and Religion-what are they when the wind blows and the water gets up in lumps?

Against the windows the storm comes dashing, Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing, The blue lightning flashes, The rapid hail clashes... The thunder is rumbling And crashing and crumbling.

Public life is constantly aware of the volcano.

Clouds of black birds rose up wailing and screaming, like the thoughts of my heart.

Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.

Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep.

Our anger and annoyance are more detrimental to us than the things themselves which anger or annoy us.

What is wrong with you?' I shake my head. 'Pull it together.' And that's what it feels like: pulling the different parts of me up and in like a shoelace. I feel suffocated, but at least I feel strong.

The story of your life is the story of the long and brutal assault on your heart by the one who knows what you could be and fears it.

Anger and hatred are the real enemies that we must confront and defeat, not the 'enemies' who appear from time to time in our lives.

Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.