Quotes about Serenity
Peace is first of all the art of being.
— Henri Nouwen
It had brought me into touch with something within me that lies far beyond the ups and downs of a busy life, something that represents the ongoing yearning of the human spirit, the yearning for a final return, an unambiguous sense of safety, a lasting home.
— Henri Nouwen
Enthusiasm is a supernatural serenity.
— Henry David Thoreau
Silence is the communing of a conscious soul with itself.
— Henry David Thoreau
My life is like a stroll upon the beach, as near to the ocean's edge as I can go.
— Henry David Thoreau
Alone in distant woods or fields, in unpretending sprout lands or pastures tracked by rabbits, even in a bleak and, to most, cheerless day like this, when a villager would be thinking of his inn, I come to myself. I once more feel myself grandly related. This cold and solitude are friends of mine.
— Henry David Thoreau
Real power is measured by how much you can let things be.
— Henry David Thoreau
A single farm-house which I had not seen before is sometimes as good as the dominions of the King of Dahomey. There is in fact a sort of harmony discoverable between the capabilities of the landscape within a circle of ten miles' radius, or the limits of an afternoon walk, and the threescore years and ten of human life. It will never become quite familiar to you.
— Henry David Thoreau
We are wont to imagine rare and delectable places in some remote and more celestial corner of the system, behind the constellation of Cassiopeia's Chair, far from noise and disturbance. I discovered that my house actually had its site in such a withdrawn, but forever new and unprofaned, part of the universe.
— Henry David Thoreau
I would rather sit in the open air, for no dust gathers on the grass, unless where man has broken ground.
— Henry David Thoreau
I doubted if the near neighborhood of man was not essential to a serene and healthy life.
— Henry David Thoreau
there was yet, it then seemed to me, many a pleasant haven in store; and meads and glades so eternally vernal, that the grass shot up by the spring, untrodden, unwilted, remains at midsummer.
— Herman Melville