A Quote by Friedrich Schiller

Not without a shudder may the human hand reach into the mysterious urn of destiny. — © Friedrich Schiller
Not without a shudder may the human hand reach into the mysterious urn of destiny.
If an urn lacks the characteristics of an urn, how can we call it an urn?
So his life has flowed, From its mysterious urn a sacred stream, In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure, Alone are mirrored; which, though shapes of ill, May hover round its surface, glides in light, And takes no shadow from them.
I believe that God wants to put His hand upon us so that we may reach ideal definitions of humility, of human helplessness, of human insufficiency, until we will rest no more upon human plans, but have God's thoughts, God's voice, and the Holy Spirit to speak to us.
I believe destiny and hard work go hand in hand. I was studying to be an engineer when my mom and my brother sent my pictures for the Miss India contest. I didn't even know about it. If that isn't destiny, what is?
One may as well go, as look into another man's house; because the eye may reach what the hand cannot.
With one hand he put A penny in the urn of poverty, And with the other took a shilling out.
There's many a white hand holds an urn With lovers' hearts to dust consumed.
It is destiny phrase of the weak human heart! 'It is destiny' dark apology for every error! The strong and virtuous admit no destiny
All great human deeds both consume and transform their doers. Consider an athlete, a scientist, an artist, or an entrepreneur. In service of their goals, they lay down time, energy and many other choices and pleasures; in return, they become most truly themselves. A false destiny may be spotted by the fact that it consumes without transforming, without giving back the enlarged self.
Love is a fruit in season at all times, and within reach of every hand. Anyone may gather it and no limit is set. Everyone can reach this love through meditation, spirit of prayer, and sacrifice, by an intense inner life.
We may live without poetry, music and art; We may live without conscience, and live without heart; We may live without friends; we may live without books; But civilized man cannot live without cooks. . . . He may live without books,-what is knowledge but grieving? He may live without hope,-what is hope but deceiving? He may live without love,-what is passion but pining? But where is the man that can live without dining?
There is a mysterious cycle in human events. To some generations much is given. Of other generations much is expected. This generation of Americans has a rendezvous with destiny.
The most precious things of life are near at hand, without money and without price. Each of you has the whole wealth of the universe at your very door. All that I ever had, and still have, may be yours by stretching forth your hand and taking it.
There's nothing I hate more than gritty, linty, mysterious pocket schmutz in the cap of my lip moisturizer - or, even worse, on the applicator itself. I shudder at the thought.
You still stand watch, O human star, burning without a flicker, perfect flame, bright and resourceful spirit. Each of your rays a great idea - O torch which passes from hand to hand, from age to age, world without end.
Fate with impartial hand turns out the doom of high and low; her capacious urn is constantly shaking the names of all mankind.
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