Casemiro Quotes

They have in me struck down but the trunk of the tree; the roots are many and deep - they will shoot up again!

Things go away to return, brightened for the passage

Now Spring returns; but not to me returns.

Comeback is a good word, man.

The magic's back, folks.

In 1937, I began, like Lazarus, the impossible return.

Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist but the ability to start over.

For me, 'Resurrected' is just like I'm saying, 'I'm still here; I'm still having fun, and I'm still going.'

I am waiting for the lost music to sound again in a new rebirth of wonder.

What’s old doesn’t need to be old-fashioned. It gets reborn.

New beginnings and new shoots Spring again from hidden roots Pull or stab or cut or burn, Love must ever yet return.

Think of a lifeless forest in which a small plant pushes its head upward, out of the ruin. In our grief process, we are moving into life from death, without denying the devastation that came before.

Believers believe in resurrection, atheists only in comebacks.

So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.

Germany has been born anew.

From every ruin, life springs up again and everything that dies is born again.

Earth knows no desolation. She smells regeneration in the moist breath of decay.

When you notice light seeping into your coffin, it's hard to go on pretending that you're still dead.

Now I've gone for too long Living like I'm not alive So I'm going to start over tonight Beginning with you and I

To remember love after long sleep; to turn again to poetry after a year in the market place, or to youth after resignation to drowsy and stiffening age; to remember what once you thought life could hold, after telling over with muddied and calculating fingers what it has offered; this is music, made after long silence. The soul flexes its wings, and, clumsy as any fledgling, tries the air again

Heaven opened and the water hammered down, reviving the reluctant old well, greenmossing the pigless pigsty, carpet bombing still, tea-colored puddles the way memory bombs still, tea-colored minds.

As all the perfumes of the vanished dayRise from the earth still moistened with the dewSo from my chastened soul beneath thy rayOld love is born anew.

The world...is full of resurrections... Every night that folds us up in darkness is a death; and those of you that have been out early, and have seen the first of the dawn, will know it - the day rises out of the night like a being that has burst its tomb and escaped into life.

Our passions are the true phoenixes; when the old one is burnt out, a new one rises from its ashes.

The alchemist was dazed and dumbfounded, as the true meaning of the magic was revealed: *The dead will rise from glade to glen and ancient will be young again*. The dead had, after all, risen. From dead and dry things there was growth, and new life everywhere. And the endlessly long winter had at last turned to spring. From life to death and back again to life. It was indeed the greatest magic in the world.