Whatever may be the tensions and the stresses of a particular day, there is always lurking close at hand the trailing beauty of forgotten joy or unremembered peace.
Howard ThurmanRead
What I have written is but a fleeting intimation of the outside of what one man sees and may tell about the path he walks. No one shares the secret of a life; no one enters into the heart of the mystery.
Interpretation
This quote reflects on the individuality of human experience and the inherent solitude in understanding one's life journey.
Howard Thurman's quote emphasizes the uniqueness of personal experiences and the limitations of communication in conveying the depth of one's life. It suggests that while we may share our observations and narrate our journeys, the true essence of our inner lives and the complexities of our personal mysteries remain inaccessible to others. Each person's path is a solitary journey, lined with secrets that are often unshared.
In practice
Use this quote in a discussion about the nature of personal experiences in a philosophy class.
Whatever may be the tensions and the stresses of a particular day, there is always lurking close at hand the trailing beauty of forgotten joy or unremembered peace.
Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is more people who have come alive
What the world need is people who have come alive.
A bigot is a person who makes an idol of his commitments.
There must be always remaining in every life, some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself is breathless and beautiful.
At the core of life is a hard purposefulness, a determination to live.
Guilt is one side of a nasty triangle; the other two are shame and stigma. This grim coalition combines to inculpate women themselves of the crimes committed against them.
If one does away with the fact of the Resurrection, one also does away with the Cross, for both stand and fall together, and one would then have to find a new center for the whole message of the gospel.
Work, apart from devotion or love of God, is helpless and cannot stand alone.
The secret thoughts of a man run over all things, holy, profane, clean, obscene, grave, and light, without shame or blame.
What is unusual about Earth is that language, literally, has become alive. It has infested matter. It is replicating and defining and building itself. And it is in us.
Proofs are the last thing looked for by a truly religious mind which feels the imaginary fitness of its faith.
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