A Quote by Rebecca West

... to lovers innumerable things do not matter. — © Rebecca West
... to lovers innumerable things do not matter.
The Universe is populated by innumerable suns, innumerable earths, and perhaps, innumerable forms of life. That thought expresses the essence of the Copernican revolution. No revelation more striking has ever come from the scientific mind.
Does it matter how long they were together that night? To lovers, an hour can last a century. But even for lovers, every hour ends.
They'd never been lovers, of course, not in the physical sense. But they'd been lovers as most of us manage, loving through expressions and gestures and the palm set softly upon the bruise at the necessary moment. Lovers by inclination rather than by lust. Lovers, that is, by love.
Fate has to do with events in history that are the summary and unintended results of innumerable decisions of innumerable men.
There are innumerable definitions of God because his manifestations are innumerable.
There are three classes of men; lovers of wisdom, lovers of honor, and lovers of gain.
Innumerable lovers of Hindi cinema have lit up the big screen. But on screen, they are just two beautiful bodies. They have no caste nor religion. The love that our filmmakers imagined was little more than make-believe.
Well, you're either lovers or you're wanting to be lovers or you're trying not to be lovers so you can be friends, but any way you look at it, sex is always looming in the picture like a shadow, like an undertow.
Innumerable Buddhas Enlightened... innumerable Christs crucified... always the same Christ, the same Buddha!
Actors who are lovers in real life are often incapable if playing the part of lovers to an audience. It is equally true that sympathy between actors who are not lovers may create a temporary emotion that is perfectly sincere.
Doesn't matter what language you speak or what clothes you wear. Some things don't change. Families. Friends. Lovers. They're the same in every city in every country in every continent of the world.
Lovers cannot imagine any opposition, no matter how small, to the beloved. They cannot endure to see the beloved veiled by something that causes Him to be forgotten. Moreover, lovers regard as futile any speech not about the beloved, and any act not related to Him as ingratitude and disloyalty.
What culture lacks is the taste for anonymous, innumerable germination. Culture is smitten with counting and measuring; it feels out of place and uncomfortable with the innumerable; its efforts tend, on the contrary, to limit the numbers in all domains; it tries to count on its fingers.
What does it matter how many lovers you have if none of them gives you the universe?
Innumerable suns exist; innumerable earths revolve around these suns in a manner similar to the way the seven planets revolve around our sun. Living beings inhabit these worlds.
The lovers of romance can go elsewhere for satisfaction but where can the lovers of truth turn if not to history?
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