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Time is of your own making Its clock ticks in your head. The moment you stop thought Time too stops dead.
Angelus Silesius
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Angelus Silesius
Age: 52 †
Born: 1624
Born: December 1
Died: 1677
Died: June 9
Cleric
Physician Writer
Poet
Presbyter
Priest
Theologian
Writer
Breslau
Johann Scheffler
Johann Angelus Silesius
Moment
Making
Ticks
Moments
Tick
Thought
Stops
Time
Clock
Dead
Head
Stop
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God, whose love and joy are present everywhere, can't come to visit you unless you aren't there.
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The rose does not have a why it blossums without reason, forgetful of self and oblivious to our vision.
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Paradise is at your own center unless you find it there, there is no way to enter.
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If in your heart you make a manger for his birth then God will once again become a child on earth.
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The rose is without 'why' it blooms simply because it blooms. It pays no attention to itself, nor does it ask whether anyone sees it.
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Though Christ a thousand times in Bethlehem be born, If he's not born in thee thy soul is still forlorn.
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The Rose is without 'why'—she blooms because she blooms.
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Springtime is at hand. When will you ever bloom, if not here and now?
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The rose has no 'Why?' It flowers because it flowers.
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Christ could be born a thousand times in Bethlehem - but all in vain until He is born in me.
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God never does withdraw His works come to no halt If you don't feel His force, yourself must be at fault.
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The rose that with you earthly eyes you see, has flowered in God from all eternity.
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The one awakened liberated sees all things as one unseparated.
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The name of Jesus is as ointment poured forth It nourishes, and illumines, and stills the anguish of the soul.
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By the will art thou lost, by the will art thou found, by the will art thou free, captive, and bound.
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A rose is but a rose, it blooms because it blooms it thinks not of itself, nor asks if it is seen.
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The Rose which here on earth is now perceived by me, has blossomed thus in god from all eternity.
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I am as vast as God there is nothing in the world O Miracle: that can shut me up in myself.
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God is a pure no-thing, concealed in now and here the less you reach for him, the more he will appear.
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Nothing can throw thee into the infernal abyss so much as this detested word - heed well! - this mine and thine.
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