He who has seen one cathedral ten times has seen something; he who has seen ten cathedrals once has seen but little; and he who has spent half an hour in each of a hundred cathedrals has seen nothing at all.
quote by Sinclair Lewis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
These old ballparks are like cathedrals in America. We don't have big old Gothic cathedrals like they do in Europe. But we got baseball parks.
quote by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
And They Obey
Smash down the cities.
Knock the walls to pieces.
Break the factories and cathedrals, warehouses
and homes
Into loose piles of stone and lumber and black
burnt wood:
You are the soldiers and we command you.
Build up the cities.
Set up the walls again.
Put together once more the factories and cathedrals,
warehouses and homes
Into buildings for life and labor:
You are workmen and citizens all: We
command you.
poem by Carl Sandburg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Writing a novel is not merely going on a shopping expedition across the border to an unreal land: it is hours and years spent in the factories, the streets, the cathedrals of the imagination.
quote by Janet Frame
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
O this air, intoxicated with sedition
O this air, intoxicated with sedition,
On the black square of the Kremlin.
The agitators rock the teetering world .
It smells of restless poplars.
The waxen facades of the cathedrals,
The thick forest of bells,
As if a tongueless bandit
Had vanished in the stony rafters.
But in the sealed cathedrals,
Where it is cool and dark,
Like in delicate clay amphoras,
The Russian wine sparkles.
The whole Assumption, wonderfully rotund,
The marvel of the arches of Paradise.
And the Annunciation, in green,
Suddenly seems to start to crow.
The Archangel and Resurrection
Show through like a palm,
Everywhere the secret burning, --
In the wine jugs a hidden flame.
poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Hundred Times Over
A hundred times over words have flowed through my fingers to the keys
A hundred times over I have released the freedom that is in my mind,
A hundred times over I have become one with my inter most longing,
A hundred times over I have taken a journey to show you my own world.
A hundred times over I have written of pain and life, of sorrow and joy,
A hundred times over I have used my art to show you what's in my mind
A hundred times over again I will show you.
A hundred times over I have cried for those, whose names are untold,
A hundred times over I have showed you their pain.
A hundred times over I have become their connection to you,
A hundred times over I have showed you the beauty of our world,
A hundred times over I have taken you somewhere you may never see,
A hundred times over my words have screamed the horror of darkness,
A hundred times over I have sung to you the beauty of light,
A hundred times over I have taken your hand to lead you to a new place
A hundred time over I have written for those who have no words to write
A hundred times over I have tried to show truth in a world of lies,
A hundred times over I have have tried to show the world's beauty,
A hundred times over again I will lead down these paths,
A hundred times over and over again I will show you reality,
A hundred times over and over again I shall show you my world,
A hundred times over and over again until you have memorised truth,
A hundred times over again until you can repeat what I have told,
A hundred times over again shall I create an art of words, time, of life.
A hundred times over again I shall do this,
A hundred times over again.
A hundred times over.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Winter Fantasy
We build cathedrals
When the illusion disappears
When we are cold in bed
Under covers that cover
Little
Or too much
We scratch our guitars
Hoping they'll be tickled
Yet tight cords hardly could
Cover
The mist, we walk to meet
When the illusion within us
Disappears
An October morning
Full of rust and leaves
Full of echoeing space
We write and never send
For to receive takes the illusion
Of sending
Away
When we write for no one to read
But to say what has to be said
Loudly, within the internal silence
Of the cathedrals we build
When love is still there
When love has no place
To find respite
From itself
On misty October mornings
Full of rusty leaves
Whirling on our balcony
Like the dance you like
To dance
Each time
Before you leave…
October 27,2008
poem by Vahe Kazandjian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The old cathedrals are good, but the great blue dome that hangs over everything is better.
quote by Thomas Carlyle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Universities are the cathedrals of the modern age. They shouldn't have to justify their existence by utilitarian criteria.
quote by David Lodge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
One may as well dam for water tanks the people's cathedrals and churches, for no holier temple has ever been consecrated by the heart of man.
Every 6 Seconds
Every six seconds
Every six seconds
Baby I can't stop
My mind from slipping
Every six seconds or less
Preoccupation of the opposite sex
And you're the one I blame
For making me go crazy
I think of you in different ways
Fourteen thousand times a day
Victoria's Secret I've been keepin'
And its getting harder all the time
I can't keep it undercover
I need your soft lips kissing mine
Every six seconds
My body starts beggin
Your sweet thing is wreckin me
Until you give me some
Ten times a minute
Six hundred times an hour
Another cold shower
Until you give me some
(Until you give me some)
I picture you in red matte lipstick
Sponging all over me
Leaving a mark on my fantasy
Or swimming in water wearing nothing but moonlight
Both of us soaking wet (splash)
Half way to the towel is as far as we get
Victoria's Secret I've been keepin'
And its getting harder all the time
I can't keep it undercover
I need your soft lips kissing mine
Every six seconds
My body starts beggin
Your sweet thing is wreckin me
Until you give me some
Ten times a minute
Six hundred times an hour
Another cold shower
Until you give me some
(Until you give me some)
Every six seconds
My body starts beggin
Your sweet thing is messin me
Until you give me some
Ten times a minute
Six hundred times an hour
Another cold shower
Girl you got the power
Until you give me some
Thoughts of you keep swimming through my veins
Baby night and day
And I cannot concentrate on anything
But this urge I have inside
Every six seconds
Every six seconds
Until you give me some
Every six seconds
Every six seconds
Until you give me some
Every six seconds
My body starts beggin
Your sweet thing is wreckin me
Until you give me some
Ten times a minute
Six hundred times an hour
Another cold shower
Until you give me some
Every six seconds
My body starts begging
Your sweet thing is wrecking me
Until you give me some
Ten times a minute
Six hundred times an hour
Girl you got the power
Until you give me some
Every six seconds
song performed by by O-Town from O-Town
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My icons do not raise up the blessed savior in elaborate cathedrals. They are constructed concentrations celebrating barren rooms. They bring a limited light.
quote by Dan Flavin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Our horizon is the creation of a noble society to which, like the medieval builder of those glorious cathedrals, you will have added your conception, your artful piece of stone.
quote by Adrienne Clarkson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Summer, Highland Falls
They say that these are not the best of times
But theyre the only times Ive ever known
And I believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own
Now I have seen that sad surrender in my lovers eyes
And I can only stand apart and sympathize
For we are always what our situations hand us
Its either sadness or euphoria
And so well argue and well compromise
And realize nothings ever changed
For all our mutual experience our separate conclusions are the same
Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity
Reason co-exists with our insanity
And when we choose between reality and madness
Its either sadness or euphoria
How thoughtlessly we dissipate our energies
Perhaps we dont fulfill each others fantasies
And as we stand upon the ledges of our lives
With our respective similarities
Its either sadness or euphoria
Oh oh oh
Oh oh
Oh oh
Oh oh oh
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Inside a religious body you get sects and hierarchies, inside an information network you get bazaars and cathedrals, it is the same, call them what you like. They survive by pointing the finger of blame at each other.
quote by Mary Douglas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I believe in the cosmos. All of us are linked to the cosmos. Look at the sun. If there is no sun, then we cannot exist. So nature is my god. To me, nature is sacred. Trees are my temples and forests are my cathedrals.
quote by Mikhail Gorbachev
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!
Loneliness
A lonely soul . . . According to her lights
She has lived on, mid all our worldly strife,
Thro' that procession of mad days and nights
That most men lay to waste, and call it life.
And men have smiled a little, too, may be,
At what they deem her eccentricity.
'This have we done, and this,' the proud souls cry;
'In pomp and pageantry vast riches spent,
Builded cathedrals yearning to the sky,
And scattered gold for God's aggrandisement,
That we may be immortalised on earth
In monuments to our undying worth.
'This we have done, and this; for we were just;
Captained great armies for the Lord of Hosts,
Left erring brothers bleeding in the dust,
Our enemies - and His. The worldling boasts;
And, boasting, dies to seek a meek reward
From a remote and half-envisioned Lord.'
A lonely woman in an empty church
Upholding faith with humble prayer and song. . . .
Oh, that we groundlings had the eyes to search
And find - not emptiness, but here a throng
Invisible. Poor prideful minds, 'tis we
Who know earth's bitter loneliness - not she.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A New Heaven
Seeing we never found gay fairyland
(Though still we crouched by bluebells moon by moon)
And missed the tide of Lethe; yet are soon
For that new bridge that leaves old Styx half-spanned;
Nor ever unto Mecca caravanned;
Nor bugled Asgard, skilled in magic rune;
Nor yearned for far Nirvana, the sweet swoon,
And from high Paradise are cursed and banned;
-Let's die home, ferry across the Channel! Thus
Shall we live gods there. Death shall be no sev'rance.
Weary cathedrals light new shrines for us.
To us, rough knees of boys shall ache with rev'rence.
Are not girls' breasts a clear, strong Acropole?
-There our oun mothers' tears shall heal us whole.
poem by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One Hundred Ripples
One hundred ripples I mark today
One hundred steps along my way
One hundred steps lead to the pond
One hundred trees there do surround
One hundred birds nesting among the trees
One hundred bees filling the air with these
One hundred bees buzzing about in the air
One hundred flowers are pollinating there
One hundred flowers provide the aromas sweet
For one hundred bouquets given to lovers as treat
One hundred lovers walk the winding pathway
One hundred times to find romance there each day
One hundred times they will reach to explore
One hundred pebbles found along the pond shore
One hundred pebbles carry wishes through the air
One hundred ripples on surface creating there
One hundred ripples then spreading out will begin
One hundred waves soon lapping at the shore again
One hundred waves providing the means for
One hundred more pebbles to reach the shore
One hundred pebbles scatter along the pathway
One hundred steps retraced at the end of the day
One hundred small steps... this latest poem was conceived to denote
One hundred little ripples... spreading from 100 poems I wrote
poem by Mary Havran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Aurora Borealis
A crystallization of color spreads from the upper regions of the dark sky towards the trembling nipples of the waves. The feathering fringes of clouds fade behind pillars of green light. Transparent curtains tremble every-where. In the arctic temple, the hidden Samson of light shakes the moon-green pillars of the night.
Color these crystals with sudden blood; it is dawn, or else the last consumptive saliva of the dying day. Heartless hard light!
In the crisp light of the frozen tinkling stars, no waters flow. The ice-stars are icebergs in this black ocean. When the green glass cathedrals crash, the light and the pillars of light and the green pillars of moon-green crystallized light are reflected through space and finally settle like sharp blades above the trembling nipples of the waves.
Samson moves in the glass cathedrals. Samson and the bull and Samson and the sun and the sun is the bull and Samson is the sun and is the bull.
Let crackling twigs of green-white light weave fantastic tree-patterns on the mirror of the sea. Let the deceptive sky celebrate the fall of its ice-cathedrals and its icebergs and its ice-stars when darkness hardens the black waters into the sullen black ice-pack of night.
Red Samson the arctic red sun is moving in the groves of green pillars. There is the red tinge of consumptive blood flickering behind the moon-green glass pillars of light. Blood of red Samson, red blood of Samson, the red thief is sprinkling blood on the slanting pillars of the falling sanctuary of light that is doomed to succumb soon to the black ice-pack of night. Then there will be night and, suddenly thrust into dark night, the red sex of the Samson-sun must later rise out of eastern whiteness and destroy the night.
Then the pillars of the black shattered temple of night glow with a white light and a red light of consumptive blood, but again later comes night then again the same Samson as the temples crash each time when the red thief scatters blood on the pillars of the light or the pillars of the night. And the thief is Samson and the red sun is Samson and Samson is the thief and Samson is the sun.
poem by Edouard Roditi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Worship
I know a quite religious man
Who utters praises when he can.
Now I find God in bard and book,
In school and temple, bird and brook.
But he says God is sweetest of all
Discovered in a drinking-hall.
For God requires no costly wine
But comes on the foam of a crockery stein.
And when that foam is on the lips,
Begin then God's good fellowships.
Cathedrals, synagogues, and kirks
May go to the devil, and all their works.
And as for Christian charity,
It's made out of hilarity.
He gives the beggar all his dimes,
Forgives his brother seven times.
'I love the rain,' says thirsty clod;
So this religious man of God.
For God has come, and is it odd
He praises all the works of God?
'For God has come, and there's no sorrow,'
He sings all night--will he sing to-morrow?
poem by John Crowe Ransom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!