A Quote by Mineko Iwasaki

And we are not mountaintop sages who can live by consuming mist. — © Mineko Iwasaki
And we are not mountaintop sages who can live by consuming mist.
Live free, child of the mist,- and with respect to knowledge we are allchildren of the mist.
We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And he's allowed me to go up to the mountaintop. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land.
Love is done when Loves begun, Sages say, But have Sages known?
Why is summer mist romantic and autumn mist just sad?
Enveloped in a common mist, we seem to walk in clearness ourselves, and behold only the mist that enshrouds others.
Truth cannot be brought down; rather, the individual must make the effort to ascend to it. You cannot bring the mountaintop to the valley. If you would attain to the mountaintop, you must pass through the valley, climb the steeps, unafraid of the dangerous precipices.
Every day can be a platform to get you closer to your mountaintop. And yet, too many people live life by accident.
The sages of old live again in us, and in opinions there is a metempsychosis.
I stand in the mist and cry, thinking of myself standing in the mist and crying, and wondering if I will ever be able to use this experience in a book.
What worries some people about consumption (and I confess at the outset to be one of these ambivalent creatures, fat but troubled in paradise) is that the affluent, technologically advanced West seems more and more focused not on consuming to live but living to consume. The problem with consumption, and the consumer capitalism that has pushed it to feverish historical extremes, is that it has become so all-consuming.
Half my life is in book's written pages. Live and learn from fools and from sages.
Who knows if to live is to be dead, and to be dead, to live? And we really, it may be, are dead; in fact I once heard sages say that we are now dead, and the body is our tomb.
In the world we live in, one fool makes many fools, but one sage only a few sages.
The English mist is always at work like a subtle painter, and London is a vast canvas prepared for the mist to work on.
And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers. Go running back to dust and mist.
It was a gloomy prospect, and all that she could do was to throw a mist over it, and hope when the mist cleared away, she should see something else.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!