Quotes about Departure

Who can depart from his pain and aloneness without regret?
Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache.
It is not a garment I cast off this day, bit a skin that I tear with my own hands...
Yet I cannot tarry longer.

The sea that calls all things unto her cals me, and I must embark.

It's better to think of my life like that - part miracle, part madness.  It's better if I accept that I can't control any of the things that matter.  My life is a trail of shipwrecks and set-sails.  There are no arrivals, no destinations, there are only sandbanks and shipwreck; then another boat, another tide. 

Every day was there to be lived or to mark one's departure from the world. every thing depend on one word "Maktub."

Say to the seceded States, "Wayward sisters, depart in peace."

But shapes that come not at an earthly call Will not depart when mortal voices bid.

Much of what we call evil is due entirely to the way men take the phenomenon. It can so often be converted into a bracing and tonic good by a simple change of the sufferer's inner attitude from one of fear to one of fight; its string can so often depart and turn into a relish when, after vainly seeking to shun it, we agree to face about and bear it . . .

Never seek to tell thy love Love that never told can be; For the gentle wind does move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart; Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears Ah, she doth depart. Soon as she was gone from me A traveler came by Silently, invisibly- He took her with a sigh.

When mourning the loss of our departed friends, I cannot help but think that in every death there is a birth; the spirit leaves the body dead to us, and passes to the other side of the veil alive to that great and noble company that are also working for the accomplishment of the purpose of God, in the redemption and salvation of a fallen world.

If none were sick and none were sad, What service could we render? I think if we were always glad, We scarcely could be tender. Did our beloved never need Our patient ministration, Earth would grow cold and miss indeed Its sweet consolation. If sorrow never claimed our heart, And every wish were granted, Patience would die, and hope depart. Life would be disenchanted.

But in vayne shee did conjure him To depart her presence soe; Having a thousand tongues to allure him, And but one to bid him goe.

O! ye that love mankind! Ye that dare oppose not only the tyranny but the tyrant, stand forth! Every spot of the Old World is overrun with oppression. Freedom hath been hunted round the globe, Asia and Africa have long expelled her. Europe regards her as a stranger and England hath given her warning to depart. O! receive the fugitive and prepare in time an asylum for mankind.

Friends depart, and memory takes them To her caverns, pure and deep.

Nothing that was worthy in the past departs; no truth or goodness realized by man ever dies, or can die; but is all still here, and, recognized or not, lives and works through endless changes.

The true past departs not, no truth or goodness realized by man ever dies, or can die; but all is still here, and, recognized or not, lives and works through endless change.

The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return.

Consider the core of the mind to be a wagon, with will-power to be carried about in it. Push it to a place where there can be failure, and there will be failure. Push it to a place where there can be success, and there will be success. But whether there is success or failure, if one entrusts himself to the straightness of this wagon of the core of the mind, he will attain right-mindedness in either case. Severing oneself from desire and being like a rock or tree, nothing will ever be achieved. Not departing from desire, but realizing a desireless right-mindedness - this is the Way.

Being yourself is not remaining what you were, or being satisfied with what you are. It is the point of departure.

The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways - I go to die, and you to live. Which is the better, God only knows.

I am quite ready to acknowledge . . . that I ought to be grieved at death, if I were not persuaded that I am going to other gods who are wise and good (of this I am as certain as I can be of any such matters), and to men departed who are better than those whom I leave behind. And therefore I do not grieve as I might have done, for I have good hope that there is yet something remaining for the dead.

It is extreme evil to depart from the company of the living before you die.

Just as I shall select my ship when I am about to go on a voyage, or my house when I propose to take a residence, so I shall choose my death when I am about to depart from life.

An apocryphal story from the writings of Clement of Alexandria regarding John the Apostle quoted by John H. Vandenberg, Conference Report, October 1963, p.45 - p.46: ". . . about John the Apostle, handed down and preserved in memory. When, on the death of the tyrant, he (John) passed over to Ephesus from the Island of Patmos, he used to make missionary journeys also to neighboring gentile cities, in some places to appoint bishops, and in some to set in order whole churches and . . . to appoint one of those indicated by the Spirit. On his arrival then at one of the cities at no great distance, of which some even mention the name, . . . he saw a youth of stalwart frame and winning countenance, and impetuous spirit, and said to the bishop, 'I entrust to thee this youth with all earnestness, calling Christ and the Church to witness.' The bishop accepted the trust, and made all the requisite promises, and the apostle renewed his injunction and adjuration. He then returned to Ephesus, and the elder taking home with him the youth who had been entrusted to his care, maintained, cherished, and finally baptized him. After this he abandoned further care and protection of him, considering that he had affixed to him the seal of the Lord as a perfect amulet against evil. Thus prematurely neglected, the youth was corrupted by certain idle companions of his own age, who were familiar with evil, and who first led him astray by many costly banquets, and then took him out by night with them to share in their felonious proceedings, finally demanding his cooperation in some worse crime. First familiarized with guilt, and then, from the force of his character, starting aside from the straight path like some mighty steed that seizes the bit between its teeth; he rushed towards headlong ruin, and utterly abandoning the divine salvation, gathered his worst comrades around him, and became a most violent, bloodstained, and reckless bandit-chief. Not long afterwards John was recalled to the city, and after putting other things in order said, 'Come now, O bishop, restore to me the deposit which I and the Saviour entrusted to thee, with the witness of the Church over which thou dost preside.' At first the bishop in his alarm mistook the meaning of the metaphor, but the apostle said, 'I demand back the young man and the soul of the brother.' Then groaning from the depth of his heart and shedding tears, 'He is dead,' said the bishop. 'How and by what death?' 'He is dead to God! For he has turned out wicked and desperate, and, to sum up all, a brigand; and now, instead of the Church he has seized the mountain, with followers like himself.' Then the apostle, rending his robe and beating his head, with loud wailing said, 'A fine guardian of our brother's soul did I leave! Give me a horse and a guide.' Instantly, . . . he rode away . . . from the Church and arriving at the brigands' outposts, was captured without flight or resistance, but crying, 'For this I have come. Lead me to your chief.' The chief awaited him in his armour, but when he recognized John as he approached, he was struck with shame and turned to fly [flight]. But John pursued him as fast as he could, forgetful of his age, crying out, 'Why my son, dost thou fly [flee] from thine own father, unarmed, aged as he is? Pity me, . . . fear not . . . stay! believe! Christ sent me.' But he on hearing these words first stood with downcast gaze, then flung away his arms, then trembling, began to weep bitterly, and embraced the old man when he came up to him, pleading with his groans, . . . but the apostle pledging himself . . . led him back to the Church and praying for him . . . and wrestling with him in earnest fastings . . . did not depart, as they say, till he restored him to the bosom of the Church."

Abortion sheds that innocent blood. Now, as a servant of the Lord, I dutifully warn those who advocate and practice abortion that they incur the wrath of Almighty God, who declared, "If men... hurt a woman with child, so that her fruit depart from her . . . he shall be surely punished."

The tumult and the shouting dies; The captains and the kings depart- Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart.

Our hearts and souls are always the departing point for all thought, feeling and action.

A Prayer: 1. 3. O Father, help me understand, Forgive the surging doubts that rise And know the reason why Within my aching heart, The boy that Thou dids't give to me, And take the dimness from mine eyes, So early had to die; Let darkness all depart. Why one whose life had been so pure, Let light and knowledge come to me Who never knew deceit, From heaven, Thy home on high, Should droop and wither like a flower O help me put my trust in Thee: Crushed under ruthless feet. O Father, tell me, why. 2. 4. O Father, help me understand Perhaps I sin in asking this, Thy purposes Divine, More faith should show in Thee; In letting death, with ruthless hand But, O I miss his loving kiss, Tear his dear heart from mine. He was so dear to me. O let me see the veil beyond, Just let me know that I sometime Where dwells his spirit pure, Shall find him, once again, And know he's happy where he's gone; And clasp again his form to mine: O let me feel secure. I ask, in Jesus' name. The Answer: 5. 7. Grieve not, my son for time shall be, Then grieve not for the one that's gone, When death shall be no more. Nor let your heart despair; Thy loved one I'll return to thee, For God in wisdom called your son, To cherish evermore. To work for Him up there; 'Twas in the plan that man should die, The prison gates to open wide And slumber in the grave, For those who died in sin, But rise again, as even I, And through repentance them to guide For this my life I gave. Again to worship Him. 6. 8. For mortal life is but a part Let this then be your answer, why, Of God's eternity, And let your heart rejoice, In which the souls of men embark For unto God they do not die, To find felicity. Who answer to His voice; What men call death is but a step But walk with Him in realms of love, From low to higher plane, Where all the righteous be. And all who in the dust have slept, Be comforted, for there above, Through me shall live again. Thy boy will welcome thee.

During periods of discontinuous, abrupt change, the essence of adaptation involves a keen sensitivity to what should be abandoned - not what should be changed or introduced. A willingness to depart from the familiar has distinct survival value.

An idea is a point of departure and no more. As soon as you elaborate it, it becomes transformed by thought.

These transcending truths restructure our understanding of ourselves and of the universe and bring within our view resplendent reality. To be seen only by those who have eyes to see, these flakes of fire are embedded in the holy scriptures. There these transcending truths may appear in the midst of the routine lineage history . . . chronologies, genealogies, and duties. . . . When encountered, their sudden richness is so breathtaking and light-intensive that, like radioactive materials, they must be handled with great care. They both light up the mind and infuse joy into the soul. . . . encountering certain verses is like walking in the woods and coming suddenly upon what C. S. Lewis called a patch of "god light" - an illuminated place in the woods of our experiences. Then there is a special surge of gospel gladness. The weariness of mind quickly departs. Such sudden light can even restructure our understanding of reality and put our past, puny efforts in perspective. One wonders, for instance, if [this is] what Moses called things he "never had supposed." (Moses 1:10.)