A Quote by Isabel Allende

Music is a wind that blows away the years, memories, and fear, that crouching animal I carry inside me. — © Isabel Allende
Music is a wind that blows away the years, memories, and fear, that crouching animal I carry inside me.
The same wind blows on us all. The economic wind, the social wind, the political wind. The same wind blows on everybody. The difference in where you arrive in one year, three years, five years, the difference in arrival is not the blowing of the wind but the set of the sail.
Sometimes my fancy gets to floating inside me, threatening to carry me away like a leaf on a wind. Better to be a stone.
Feel the wind. This wind blows from world to world and from life to death. This is the wind of dharma. Be in love with the wind. It is an intimate lover. It enraptures you. It blows you through eternity.
The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away.
Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying, Blows the wind on the moors to-day and now, Where about the graves of the martyrs the whaups are crying, My heart remembers how!
I wanna be inside your heaven Take me to the place you cry from Where the storm blows your way I wanna be the earth that holds you Every bit of air you're breathin' in A soothin' wind I wanna be inside your heaven
Let us not be surprised when we have to face difficulties. When the wind blows hard on a tree, the roots stretch and grow the stronger, Let it be so with us. Let us not be weaklings, yielding to every wind that blows, but strong in spirit to resist.
Sometimes the wind blows you places you weren't expecting: sometimes it blows you away from those places, too.
Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.
Listen as the wind blows From across the great divide Voices trapped in yearning Memories trapped in time
Of course, we carry inside of ourselves our parents. Even when they are dead, we carry them inside ourselves. And they are carrying inside themselves their dead parents and so on and so forth. There is a legacy of language and culture and religion. In some cases, family stories told by grandparents to little grandchildren. When I say my novels are set in Israel in the last seventy years, this entails the fact that they begin hundreds or thousands of years earlier in time. Everybody comes from somewhere.
I cry when I work in the garden, because the Sun, the rain, the wind and the Earth all work together to make us food and flowers. It just blows me away.
Nothing in my life ever seemed to fade away or take its rightful place among the pantheon of experiences that constituted my eighteen years. It was all still with me, the storage space in my brain crammed with vivid memories, packed and piled like photographs and old dresses in my grandmother’s bureau. I wasn’t just the madwoman in the attic — I was the attic itself. The past was all over me, all under me, all inside me.
I fear animals regard man as a creature of their own kind which has in a highly dangerous fashion lost its healthy animal reason - as the mad animal, as the laughing animal, as the weeping animal, as the unhappy animal.
You never conquer a mountain. You just stand on the top a few moments. Then the wind blows your footprints away.
I listen to purely Christian Worship Music, Christian Rap etc. People will give me some old music, stuff I used to listen to back then and when I listen to the words, it blows me away.
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