For support, I fall back on my heart. Has a man any fault a woman cannot weave with and try to change into something better, if the god her man prays to is a mother holding a baby?— Haniel Long
The most dreamy Haniel Long quotes that are proven to give you inner joy
Each of us is a being in himself and a being in society, each of us needs to understand himself and understand others, take care of others and be taken care of himself.
So much of what is best in us is bound up in our love of family, that it remains the measure of our stability because it measures our sense of loyalty. All other pacts of love or fear derive from it and are modeled upon it.
And who is any of us, that without starvation he can go through the kingdoms of starvation?
Our deeds disguise us. People need endless time to try on their deeds, until each knows the proper deeds for him to do. But every day, every hour, rushes by. There is no time.
In youth the human body drew me and was the object of my secret and natural dreams. But body after body has taken away from me that sensual phosphorescence which my youth delighted in.
A man's motive in the small actions of daily life, like resting a moment on his pitchfork in the sun and listening intently, may be the most important thing about that man.
Certainly there are great men whose age circumscribes them so completely that we lose interest.
When an individual fear or apathy would cause us to pass by the unfortunate, then life is of no account.
The moment one accosts a stranger or is accosted by him is above all in this life the moment of drama... Whoever we meet watches us intently at the quick, strange moment of meeting, to see whether we are disposed to be friendly.
In youth the human body drew me and was the object of my secret and natural dreams. But body after body has taken away from me that sensual phosphorescence which my youth delighted in. Within me is no disturbing interplay now, but only the steady currents of adaptation and of sympathy.
When an individual fear or apathy passes by the unfortunate, life is of no account.
All poets and story tellers alive today make a single brotherhood;
they are engaged in a single work, picturing our human life. Whoever pictures life as he sees it, reassembles in his own way the details of existence which affect him deeply, and so creates a spiritual world of his own.