52 Cycles Quotes

I believe it safe to say that all progress must lead, not to further progress, but finally to the negation of progress, a return to the point of departure.

All my life's a circle; Sunrise and sundown; Moon rolls thru the nighttime; Till the daybreak comes around.

All my life's a circle; But I can't tell you why; Season's spinning round again; The years keep rollin' by.

I found you a thousand times; I guess you done the same; But then we lose each other; It's like a children's game; As I find you here again; A thought runs through my mind; Our love is like a circle; Let's go 'round one more time.

Nature is ever at work building and pulling down, creating and destroying, keeping everything whirling and flowing, allowing no rest but in rhythmical motion, chasing everything in endless song out of one beautiful form into another.

The grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never dried all at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor is ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.

When twenty years of the Moon's reign have passed another will take up his reign for seven thousand years. When the exhausted Sun takes up his cycle then my prophecy and threats will be accomplished.

A political country is like an American forest; you have only to cut down the old trees, and immediately new trees come up to replace them.

The sun was like a great visiting presence that stimulated and took its due from all animal energy. When it flung wide its cloak and stepped down over the edge of the fields at evening, it left behind it a spent and exhausted world.

The Greeks possessed a knowledge of human nature we seem hardly able to attain to without passing through the strengthening hibernation of a new barbarism.

By forces seemingly antagonistic and destructive Nature accomplishes her beneficent designs- now a flood of fire, now a flood of ice, now a flood of water; and again in the fullness of time an outburst of organic life....

Death belongs to life as birth does. The walk is in the raising of the foot as in the laying of it down.

What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . . Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . . And after a while they will fall to dust and rain; Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands; And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

Human history, like all great movements, was cyclical, and returned to the point of beginning. the idea of indefinite progress in a right line was a chimera of the imagination, with no analogue in nature. The parabola of a comet was perhaps a better illustration of the career of humanity. Tending upward and sunward from the aphelion of barbarism, the race attained the perihelion of civilization only to plunge downward once more to its nether goal in the regions of chaos.

Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set; but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

End here. Us then. Finn, again! Take. Bussoftlhee, mememormee! Till thousandsthee. Lps. The keys to. Given! A way a lone a last a loved a long the / riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs. (628.13 to 3.3)

This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never all dried at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on seas and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.

The new American finds his challenge and his love in the traffic-choked streets, skies nested in smog, choking with the acids of industry, the screech of rubber and houses leashed in against one another while the townlets wither a time and die. This is not offered in criticism but only as observation. And I am sure that, as all pendulums reverse their swing, so eventually will the swollen cities rupture like dehiscent wombs and disperse their children back to the countryside.

And the seasons they go round and round, And the painted ponies go up and down, We're all captive on the carousel of time We can't return we can only look behind From where we came And go 'round and 'round and 'round In the circle game.

This is a story about a man named Eddie and it begins at the end, with Eddie dying in the sun. It might seem strange to start a story with an ending. But all endings are also beginnings. We just don't know it at the time.

Life is the beginning of death. Life is for the sake of death. Death is at once the end and the beginning - at once separation and closer union of the self. Through death the reduction is complete.

Women and men (both little and small) cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn't they reaped their same sun moon stars rain: all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep

'Yet how should I for certain hold, Because my memory is so cold, That I first was in human mould? 'I cannot make this matter plain, But I would shoot, howe'er in vain, A random arrow from the brain. 'It may be that no life is found, Which only to one engine bound Falls off, but cycles always round. 'As old mythologies relate, Some draught of Lethe might await The slipping thro' from state to state. 'As here we find in trances, men Forget the dream that happens then, Until they fall in trance again. 'So might we, if our state were such As one before, remember much, For those two likes might meet and touch.

Before him, numberless lovers smiled and talked. And death was observed with sudden cries, And birth with laughter and pain. And the trees grew taller and blacker against the skies And night came down again.

... men get tired of everything, of heaven no less than of hell; and that all history is nothing but a record of the oscillations of the world between these two extremes. An epoch is but a swing of the pendulum; and each generation thinks the world is progressing because it is always moving. But when you are as old as I am; when you have a thousand times wearied of heaven, like myself and the Commander, and a thousand times wearied of hell, as you are wearied now, you will no longer imagine that every swing from heaven to hell is an emancipation, every swing from hell to heaven an evolution. Where you now see reform, progress, fulfilment of upward tendency, continual ascent by Man on the stepping stones of his dead selves to higher things, you will see nothing but an infinite comedy of illusion. You will discover the profound truth of the saying of my friend Koheleth, that there is nothing new under the sun. Vanitas vanitatum.

So goth the world, now wo, now wel.

Put out the light, then, put out the light. Vibes in the sky invite you to dine. Dust to dust, Blow to blow.

Cedit item retro, de terra quod fuit ante, in terras.

And it's the same sad song coming back again. The same old song, flows back again. ~ 'So Much Work'

This day, Time winds th' exhausted chain, To run the twelvemonth's length again.

A thing final in itself and, therefore, good: One of the vast repetitions final in Themselves and, therefore, good, the going round And round and round, the merely going round, Until merely going round is a final good, The way wine comes at a table in a wood.

Come let us mock at the wise; With all those calendars whereon They fixed old aching eyes, They never saw how seasons run, And now but gape at the sun.

Poor beauty. May I not pity her, of all people? She loved him, but she had only learned one way to show her love - through cruelty and abuse

In the big house Where the sun lives With the walls so white and blue In the red soil All the green grows And the winds blow across your face They blow across your heart It's the time of the turning and there's something stirring outside It's the time of turning and we'd better learn to say our goodbyes

There never was night that had no morn.

The world is a wheel, and it will all come round right.

I suppose the love of life which periodically deserts most men was returning: like sexual desire, it moves in cycles.

A period of about twelve years measured the beat of the pendulum. After the Declaration of Independence, twelve years had been needed to create an efficient Constitution; another twelve years of energy brought a reaction against the government then created; a third period of twelve years was ending in a sweep toward still greater energy; and already a child could calculate the result of a few more such returns.

It may be observed, that provinces amid the vicissitudes to which they are subject, pass from order into confusion, and afterward recur to a state of order again; for the nature of mundane affairs not allowing them to continue in an even course, when they have arrived at their greatest perfection, they soon begin to decline. In the same manner, having been reduced by disorder, and sunk to their utmost state of depression, unable to descend lower, they, of necessity, reascend; and thus from good they gradually decline to evil, and from evil again return to good. The reason is, that valor produces peace; peace, repose; repose, disorder; disorder, ruin; so from disorder order springs; from order virtue, and from this, glory and good fortune.

In any war a victory means another war, and yet another, until some day inevitably the tides turn, and the victor is the vanquished, and the circle reverses itself, but remains nevertheless a circle. ... I came home more torn in heart than any child should be, for I saw that each side was right as well as wrong, and I yearned over both in a helpless fashion, unable to see how, history being what it was, anything now could be done.

My sun sets to rise again.

Cities and Thrones and Powers, Stand in Time's eye, Almost as long as flowers, Which daily die: But, as new buds put forth To glad new men, Out of the spent and unconsidered Earth, The Cities rise again.

Individual societies begin in harmonious adaptation to the environment and, like individuals, quickly get trapped into nonadaptive, artificial, repetitive sequences.

Hate only hatred.