Chaos often breeds life, when order breeds habit.
She was one of those born to make chaos cosmic.
I feel that art has something to do with the achievement of stillness in the midst of chaos.
Be no longer a chaos, but a world, or even worldkin. Produce! Produce! Were it but the pitifullest infinitesimal fraction of a product, produce it in God's name!'Tistheutmostthou hast inthee: out with it, then.
A face peered. All the grey night In chaos of vacancy shone; Nought but vast Sorrow was there The sweet cheat gone.
It wassaid of Metternichthat hewasso conservativethat had he been present at the Creation, he would have begged God to have retained Chaos.
To some physicists chaos is a science of process rather than state, of becoming rather than being.
And the motive for recording these scraps of the past? It Greenspan is much the same motive that has made me a novelist: a desire to reduce a chaos of experience to some sort of order, and a hungry curiosity.
Wer in Europa die Brandfackel des Krieges erhebt, kann nur das Chaos wu« n schen. Whoever lights the torch of war in Europe can wish for nothing but chaos.
If the art of poetry isthe art of making sense of the chaos of human experience, it's not a bad thing to see a lot of chaos.
Chaos is the score upon which reality is written.
A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.
Chaos umpire sits, And by decision more embroils the fray By which he reigns; next him high arbiter Chance governs all.
Ich sage euch: man muss noch Chaos in sich haben, um einem tanzenden Stern geb a« ren zu k o« nnen. I tell you: one must have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing star.
Chaos, rudis indigestaque moles. Chaos, a rough unordered mass.
Lo! thy dread empire,Chaos! is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; And universal darkness buries all.
Poetryis capable of saving us; it is a perfectly possible means of overcoming chaos.
From the great morning of the world when first God dawned on Chaos.
In ten thousand years the Sierras Will be dryand dead, home of the scorpion. Ice-scratched slabs and bent trees. No paradise, no fall, Only the weathering land The wheeling sky, Man, with his Satan Scouring the chaos of the mind. Oh Hell!
'Humour,' he said,'is emotional chaos remembered in tranquillity.' SeeWordsworth 925:10.
Bah! the thing is not a nose at all, but a bit of primordial chaos clapped on to my face.
Not Chaos, not The darkest pit of lowest Erebus Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out By help of dreamscan breed such fear and awe As fall upon us often when we look Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man My haunt, and the main region of my song.
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
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