Friday, November 22, 2024 Text is available under the CC BY-SA 3.0 licence.

Nikos Kazantzakis

« All quotes from this author
 

Do you believe in dreams, Uncle Simeon? I do; I believe in nothing else. One night I dreamed that invisible enemies had me tied to a dead cypress. Long red arrows were sticking into me from my head to my feet, and the blood was flowing. On my head they had placed a crown of thorns, and intertwined with the thorns were fiery letters which said: "Saint Blasphemer." I am Saint Blasphemer, Rabbi Simeon. So you'd better not ask me anything else, or I'll start my blasphemies.
--
Ch. 10

 
Nikos Kazantzakis

» Nikos Kazantzakis - all quotes »



Tags: Nikos Kazantzakis Quotes, Authors starting by K


Similar quotes

 

On Gandhi: Don’t ever forget, that we were not lead by a saint with his head in clouds, but by a master tactician with his feet on the ground.

 
Shashi Tharoor
 

He comes, and his face is sad and mild,
With thorns his head is crowned;
There are great bleeding wounds in his feet,
And in each hand a wound.
How can I tell, who am a fool,
If this be Christ or no?
Those bleeding hands outstretched to me!
Those eyes that love me so!

 
Joyce Kilmer
 

"My first musical memory? It’s probably my grandfather sticking headphones on my head. He had a music room that was huge. He probably had two or three thousand records, you know what I mean, vinyl. My grandfather was a music buff, and I credit my affinity towards music to him. But I remember him sticking on the song 'Popcorn'. It’s a record called 'Popcorn', and it’s this quirky little disco melody that is stuck in my head to this day."

 
Klayton
 

The long blue days, for his head, for his side, and the little paths for his feet, and all the brightness to touch and gather. Through the grass the little mosspaths, bony with old roots, and the trees sticking up, and the flowers sticking up, and the fruit hanging down, and the white exhausted butterflies, and the birds never the same darting all day long into hiding. And all the sounds, meaning nothing. Then at night rest in the quiet house, there are no roads, no streets any more, you lie down by a window opening on refuge, the little sounds come that demand nothing, ordain nothing, explain nothing, propound nothing, and the short necessary night is soon ended, and the sky blue again all over the secret places where nobody ever comes, the secret places never the same, but always simple and indifferent, always mere places, sites of a stirring beyond coming and going, of a being so light and free that it is as the being of nothing.

 
Samuel Beckett
 

Every noble crown is, and on earth will forever be, a crown of thorns.

 
Thomas Carlyle
© 2009–2013Quotes Privacy Policy | Contact