A Quote by John Keats
Parting they seemed to tread upon the air,
Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart
Only to meet again more close.
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Beware of parting! The true sadness is not in the pain of the parting; it is in the when and the how you are to meet again with the face about to vanish from your view.
Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate
Fair ladies, masked, are roses in their bud;
Dismasked, the damask sweet commixture shown,
Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.
I feel like the Roses were a great group, but I never wanted to try to do it again. I knew I couldn't get a band that would compare to the Roses, that would have an impact like the Roses.
I have two doctors, my left leg and my right. When body and mind are out of gear (and those twin parts of me live at such close quarters that the one always catches melancholy from the other) I know that I shall have only to call in my doctors and I shall be well again.
Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then this parting was well made.
Just cuz yer going there and I'm staying here," I say. "It don't mean we're parting." "No," she says and I know she understands. "No, it certainly doesn't." "I ain't parting from you again," I say, still looking at our fingers. "Not even in my head.
Whereas Absurdism in Europe seemed a logical, almost inevitable response to the irrationality of war, the analogous elements that surfaced in American drama seemed more a response to a materialist society run amok. The American-style Absurdism seemed to spring full-blown out of television advertisements and situation comedies, which had become new myth-making machines.
There was no helping her tears. For they would leave Po behind… She cried into his shoulder like a child. Ashamed of herself, for it was only a parting, and Bitterblue had not wept like this even over a death. ‘Don’t be ashamed,' Po whispered. ‘Your sadness is dear to me. Don’t be frightened. I won’t die, Katsa. I won’t die, and we’ll meet again.
Blown roses hold their sweetness to the last.
A chord, stronger or weaker, is snapped asunder in every parting, and time's busy fingers are not practiced in re-splicing broken ties. Meet again you may; will it be in the same way? With the same sympathies? With the same sentiments? Will the souls, hurrying on in diverse paths, unite once more, as if the interval had been a dream? Rarely, rarely!
It is sad that the air is the only thing we share. No matter how close we get to each other, there is always air between us.
When I was a little girl, my grandfather, who I was very close to, used to grow yellow roses. He had yellow roses growing all the way up his drive.
Every parting gives a foretaste of death; every remeeting a foretaste of the resurrection. That is why even people who are indifferent to each other rejoice so much if they meet again after twenty or thirty years of separation.
Like a plank of driftwood Tossed on the watery main, Another plank encountered, Meets, touches, parts again; So tossed, and drifting ever, On life's unresting sea, Men meet, and greet, and sever, Parting eternally.
If you have a dear one in Heaven your heart yearns to see, do not despair, for you will meet again. The voice you loved to hear, you will hear again. The identity of the one you were near to on Earth remains the same, and instant recognition will be yours as you meet, never to part again. Your beloved one is only lost awhile.
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