Zorba is beautiful, but something is missing. The earth is his, but the heaven is missing. He is earthly, rooted, like a giant cedar, but he has no wings. He cannot fly into the sky. He has roots but no wings.
Good parents give their children Roots and Wings. Roots to know where home is, wings to fly away and exercise what's been taught them.
What's missing is the testosterone. What's missing is the fury. What's missing is the passionate convicted commitment. And I got a lot of mine from my religious background. So y'all best stop imagining the way Dr. Zorba looked, or some defenseless Hasidic Jew with a little yarmulke on his head, 'cause that ain't here for you.
There are two things parents should give their children roots and wings. Roots to give them bearing and a sense of belonging, but also wings to help free them from constraints and prejudices and give them other ways to travel (or rather, to fly).
To go beyond samsara and nirvana, we will need
the two wings of emptiness and compassion.
From now on, let us use these two wings
to fly fearlessly into the sky of the life to come.
The human race is like a bird and it needs both wings to be able to fly. And, at the moment, one of is wings is clipped an we're never going to be able to fly as high.
The birds are the saints, who fly to heaven on the wings of contemplation, who are so removed from the world that they have no business on earth. They do not labour, but by contemplation alone they already live in heaven.
I felt like I was missing something. Missing you more. Missing whatever was going to happen next.
That's what we're missing. We're missing argument. We're missing debate. We're missing colloquy. We're missing all sorts of things. Instead, we're accepting.
The naturalist picked up the eagle and said to it, "Thou dost belong to the sky and not to this earth; stretch forth thy wings and fly."
Faith without works is like a bird without wings; though she may hop with her companions on earth, yet she will never fly with them to heaven.
All those golden autumn days the sky was full of wings. Wings beating low over the blue water of Silver Lake, wings beating high in the blue air far above it . . . bearing them all away to the green fields in the South.
My favourite poem is called 'Roots and Wings' - it's a very moving poem about how if you've got real roots you can fly.
It's Simon, he's missing." Ahh." said Magnus delicately "Missing what exactly?" Missing!" Jace repeated "As in gone, absent, notable for his lack of presence, disappeared
You cannot fly like an eagle with the wings of a wren.
So I think all comedians are earning their wings into heaven. We're all going to heaven, but everybody's not going to get their wings. Some people are just going to be regular angels. Doing cleanup, janitor work. In heaven, I'm going to sit on the couch with Oprah.
Every nation needs two wings to fly. Any bird torn at the wings will never soar the skies.