Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.
W. H. AudenRead
God is Love, we are taught as children to believe. But when we first begin to get some inkling of how He loves us, we are repelled; it seems so cold, indeed, not love at all as we understand the word.
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the complex nature of divine love as perceived by humans, often feeling distant or cold compared to our understanding of love.
W. H. Auden's quote explores the paradox of divine love, suggesting that while we are taught that God embodies love, the realization of how this love operates can sometimes feel unwelcoming or unfamiliar. This tension arises when we encounter the idea of love that transcends human emotions, provoking a sense of disconnection from what we traditionally understand as warmth and affection.
In practice
During a discussion about spirituality in a philosophy class.
Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.
That the speech of self-disclosure should be translatable seems to me very odd, but I am convinced that it is. The conclusion that I draw is that the only quality which all human being without exception possess is uniqueness: any characteristic, on the other hand, which one individual can be recognized as having in common with another, like red hair or the English language, implies the existence of other individual qualities which this classification excludes.
Nobody knows what the cause is, though some pretend they do; it like some hidden assassin waiting to strike at you. Childless women get it, and men when they retire; it as if there had to be some outlet for their foiled creative fire.
History is, strictly speaking, the study of questions; the study of answers belongs to anthropology and sociology.
Music is the best means we have of digesting time.
'Healing,' Papa would tell me, 'is not a science, but the intuitive art of wooing nature.'
She thought how strange it would be if she ever said 'Hello' to him. One did not greet oneself each morning.
No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one’s existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream--alone.
The speech we hear is an indication of that which we don't hear. It is a necessary avoidance, a violent, sly, and anguished or mocking smoke screen which keeps the other in its true place. When true silence falls we are left with echo but are nearer nakedness. One way of looking at speech is to say that it is a constant stratagem to cover nakedness.
What if nothing exists and we're all in somebody's dream?
Our great modern Republic. May those who seek the blessings of its institutions and the protection of its flag remember the obligations they impose.
As precious as life itself is our heritage of individual freedom, for man's free agency is a God-given gift.
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