rest

Thank God for the solitude of the Sabbath.

Some people are married to ideas that they do not love, ideas that do not love them in return. They are married to ideas they do not sleep with, ideas that rob them of their sleep.

If only I could rest for a time in quiet pain and awaken new and willing. He is looking forward and I am inward.

My soul is utterly frantic for that single place of perfect refuge from which I can clearly see the winds rip and hear the tempest tear, yet despite the ferocity of the tumult I rest in such a sublime peace it is as if neither existed at all. And if I have not yet found such a place, it is because I have not yet found God.

You ought to pause and enjoy the peace in the moment.

You might be an introvert if you were ready to go home before you left the house.

We have earned our peace. It is, by now, more precious than honor, or even pity.

We are thankful to come here for rest, sir," said Jenny. "You see, you don't know what the rest of this place is to us; does he, Lizzie? It's the quiet, and the air.""The quiet!" repeated Fledgeby, with a contemptuous turn of his head towards the City's roar. "And the air!" with a "Poof!" at the smoke."Ah!" said Jenny. "But it's so high. And you see the clouds rushing on above the narrow streets, not minding them, and you see the golden arrows pointing at the mountains in the sky from which the wind comes, and you feel as if you were dead."The little creature looked above her, holding up her slight transparent hand."How do you feel when you are dead?" asked Fledgeby, much perplexed."Oh, so tranquil!" cried the little creature, smiling. "Oh, so peaceful and so thankful! And you hear the people who are alive, crying, and working, and calling to one another down in the close dark streets, and you seem to pity them so! And such a chain has fallen from you, and such a strange good sorrowful happiness comes upon you!"Her eyes fell on the old man, who, with his hands folded, quietly looked on."Why it was only just now," said the little creature, pointing at him, "that I fancied I saw him come out of his grave! He toiled out at that low door so bent and worn, and then he took his breath and stood upright, and looked all round him at the sky, and the wind blew upon him, and his life down in the dark was over!__ill he was called back to life," she added, looking round at Fledgeby with that lower look of sharpness. "Why did you call him back?""He was long enough coming, anyhow," grumbled Fledgeby."But you are not dead, you know," said Jenny Wren. "Get down to life!"Mr Fledgeby seemed to think it rather a good suggestion, and with a nod turned round. As Riah followed to attend him down the stairs, the little creature called out to the Jew in a silvery tone, "Don't be long gone. Come back, and be dead!" And still as they went down they heard the little sweet voice, more and more faintly, half calling and half singing, "Come back and be dead, Come back and be dead!

[Y]ou were too alert to the figurative possibilities of words not to see the phrase [angle of repose] as descriptive of human as well as detrital rest. As you said, it was too good for mere dirt; you tried to apply it to your own wandering and uneasy life ... I wonder if you ever reached it.

She stared at the stars like they were pillow for her mind and in their light she could rest her heavy head.

Rest and be thankful.

Ohne Hast, aber ohne Rast. - Without haste, but without rest.

Each person must implement their preferred problem solving method to address existential questions pertaining to life and death, living and loving, working and playing, resting and restructuring.

Lisbon, to me, is the Lisbon of Pessoa. Just like London is Woolf__, or rather, Mrs. Dalloway__. Barcelona is Gaudí's and Rome is da Vinci__. You see them in every crevice and hear their echoes in every cathedral. I__ like to be the child, or rather, the mother of a city but I neither have a home nor a resting place. My race is humankind. My religion is kindness. My work is love and, well, my city is the walls of your heart.

You cannot imagine the craving for rest that I feel__ hunger and thirst. For six long days, since my work was done, my mind has been a whirlpool, swift, unprogressive and incessant, a torrent of thoughts leading nowhere, spinning round swift and steady

Love turns work into rest.

After all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps not so much to be resting yourself, as to see all the other fellows busy working.

There is virtue in work and there is virtue in rest. Use both and overlook neither.