Explore Quotes on Doors

Fiction—and poetry and drama— cleanse the doors of perception.

Better to me the poor mans crust,_x000D_ Better the blessing of the poor,_x000D_ Though I turn me empty from his door;_x000D_ That is no true alms which the hand can hold;_x000D_ He gives nothing but worthless gold_x000D_ Who gives from a sense of duty;_x000D_ But he who gives a slender mite,_x000D_ And gives to that which is out of sight,_x000D_ That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty_x000D_ Which runs through all and doth all unite, -_x000D_ The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms,_x000D_ The heart outstretches its eager palms,_x000D_ For a god goes with it and makes it store_x000D_ To the soul that was starving in darkness before.

Shut not your doors to me proud libraries.

It is often to be observed, that as in digging for precious metals in the mines, much earthly rubbish has first to be troublesomely handled and thrown out ; so, in digging in one s soul for the fine gold of genius, much dulness and common-place is first brought to light. Happy would it be, if the man possessed in himself some receptacle for his own rubbish of this sort: but he is like the occupant of a dwelling, whose refuse cannot be clapped into his own cellar, but must be deposited in the street before his own door, for the public functionaries to take care of.

I'm absolutely terrified that people can get into cars. It's like the car is a face, and the headlight is eyes, and when you open the car door it's like you're climbing into the ears. (I cannot) be inside a giant rolling robot head.

When combined, the small individual contributors of caring, friendship, forgiveness, and love, each of us different from our next-door neighbors, can form a phalanx, an army, with great capability.

It is June. This is what I have decided to do with my life just now. I will do this work and lead this life, the one I am leading today. Each morning the blue clock and the crocheted bedspread, the table with the Phone, the books and magazines, the Times at the door.

The darkness which clings to every personality is the door into the unconscious and the gateway of dreams, from which those two twilight figures, the shadow and the anima, step into our nightly visions or, remaining invisible, take possession of our ego-consciousness.

Behind every door on every ordinary street, in every hut in every ordinary village in this middling planet of a trivial star, such riches are to be found. The strange journeys we undertake on our earthly pilgrimage, the joy and suffering we taste or confer, the chance events that leave us together or apart, what a complex trace they leave: so personal as to be almost incommunicable, so fugitive as to be almost irrecoverable.

Imagine all human beings swept off the face of the earth, excepting one man. Imagine this man in some vast city, New York or London. Imagine him on the third or fourth day of his solitude sitting in a house and hearing a ring at the door-bell!

Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog where noone notices the contrast of white on white.

My life now centered around sleepless nights and stand-bys, dodging the Brits and calming nerves to go out on operations. But the people stood by us. The people not only opened the doors of their homes to lend us a hand, but they opened their hearts to us. I learned that without the people, we could not survive and I knew that I owed them everything.

If the British government is prepared to say that the Unionists will not have a veto over British government policy and that guns, vetoes and injustices will all be left outside the door, then there is no good reason why talks cannot take place in an appropriate atmosphere.

Most English-speaking people, for instance, will admit that cellar door is 'beautiful', especially if dissociated from its sense (and its spelling). More beautiful than, say, sky, and far more beautiful than beautiful. Well then, in Welsh for me cellar doors are extraordinarily frequent.

Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through anyone that suits you.

This is the strangest life I've ever known.

I believe in a long, prolonged, derangement of the senses in order to obtain the unknown.

There are things known and things unknown and in between are The Doors.

The courage of the poet is to keep ajar the door that leads into madness.

The real estate agent had to go door-to-door in the apartment building we wanted to rent, asking if it was OK for this interracial family - my mom is white and I was a 1-year-old half-African kid - to live in the apartment building.

If the guy out in the woods with the Michigan Militia is a real estate negotiator, instead of some crackpot, and has a normal life, that's unnerving. You don't want to think it's as normal as the guy next door, hedging his lawn. It's easier to demonize or separate them off from 'us.'