Mind Over Body Quotes

You are a little soul carrying about a corpse, as Epictetus used to say. ~ Marcus Aurelius

August groaned inwardly.

Mind over body.

Mind over body.

Mind over body over bodies on the floor over tallies seared day by day by day into skin until it cracked and broke and bled into the beat of gunfire and the melody of pain and the world was made of savage music, made and was made of, and that was the cycle, the big bang into the whimper and on and on and none of it was real except for August or all of it was real except for him. . . . ~ Victoria Schwab

What no one really talks about, though, is the main reason many of us fail with our weight loss efforts: our minds won't let us. ~ Helen M. Ryan

As a woman of a certain age - and really, ever since I hit puberty and my baby-making parts were suddenly subject to public debate - I've been told over and over again that I will 'change my mind' about not wanting kids. ~ Jen Kirkman

There was a time when I kept track of it all; when my mind worked like a giant lint brush being swept over the fuzzy surface of popular culture. But these days, pop culture seems to have gotten fuzzier and fuzzier; notoriety comes and goes in the snap of a finger. ~ Susan Orlean

One of them hasn't got a uniform on or plainclothes either like the rest. He has on the white coat that is my nightmare and my horror. And in the crotch of one arm he is upending two long poles intertwined with canvas.
The long-drawn-out death within life. The burial-alive of the mind, covering it over with fresh graveyard earth each time it tries to struggle through to the light. In this kind of death you never finish dying.
("New York Blues") ~ Cornell Woolrich

Lillian moved forward to meet her, studying her with curiosity. They had met before, on infrequent occasions, and she found it strange to see Dagny Taggart wearing an evening gown. It was a black dress with a bodice that fell as a cape over one arm and shoulder, leaving the other bare: the naked shoulder was the gown's only ornament. Seeing her in the suits she wore, one never thought of dagny taggart's body. The black dress seemed excessively revealing – because it was astonishing to discover that the lines of her shoulder were fragile and beautiful, and that the diamond band on the wrist of her naked arm gave her the most feminine of all aspects: the look of being chained. ~ Ayn Rand

I mean, I don't even like guys with light hair, for one thing! Never mind the fact that he'd knock me into a coma every time he opened his mouth. Oh, and that he's a hateful, violent half-wit. Yeah, that's prime courtship material right there."
It wasn't me. YES!
Wait. Was this that Allister fellow?
I drifted over and sat next to her. She looked at me and offered the com unit. "Bram, tell Pamma that there's no way I would want Michael Allister, ever."
I ran this through my "girl talk" translator and said, "I could eat him, if either of you'd like. Seems like it might be the easiest thing to do. ~ Lia Habel

His mouth brushed over hers with kisses of soft fire. And as he possessed her, she gradually came to understand the pattern he was working within her… eight shallow thrusts, two deep… seven shallow, three deep… progressing until he finally gave her ten heavy, penetrating plunges. Lottie cried out with wrenching pleasure, her hips lifting against his sleek weight as she was filled with volatile sensation. When the burning delight had begun to fade, Nick altered their positions subtly, moving farther over her, nudging her knees wider, adjusting the angle of his sex. He thrust deeply, sealing their bodies together, and circled his hips in a slow, steady rhythm.
"I can't," Lottie said breathlessly, realizing what he wanted, knowing that it was impossible.
"Let me," Nick whispered, tireless and wickedly adept as he continued the gentle circling, using his body to pleasure her.
She was astonished by how quickly the heat rose again, her senses welcoming the patient stimulation, her sex turning slick and swollen as he moved inside her, over her, against her. "Oh… oh…" The sounds were torn from her throat as she reached another crest, her limbs jerking, her cheek pressed hard against his shoulder.
And then he began the entire cycle again. Nine shallow, one deep…
Lottie lost count of how many times he brought her to ecstasy, or how much time passed while he made love to her. He whispered in her ear… endearments… intimate praise… telling her how hard she ma ~ Lisa Kleypas

It's rather nice to think of oneself as a sailor bending over the map of one's mind and deciding where to go and how to go. The great thing to remember is we can do whatever we wish to do provided our wish is strong enough. ~ Katherine Mansfield

My magic truth-the thing that has changed everything for me-is this: the body I have shouldn't change how deserving I am of my dreams. I stopped obsessing over my body being too round or too wise or too lumpy. Because I'm not too much of anything. I am just enough. Even when I don't feel like I am. ~ Julie Murphy

It's only when gravity starts to take over you begin to think about your body. ~ David Soul

Why are we outsourcing millions of high-paying jobs to China and India? Why don't we secure the border and stop the country from being flooded with millions of illegal immigrants? These are important questions on the mind of middle class voters all over America. ~ George Noory

If spacious stillness is missing, the relationship will be dominated by the mind and can easily be taken over by problems and conflict. If stillness is there, it can contain anything. ~ Eckhart Tolle

Lord, by the words of consecration the substance of the bread and wine is converted into the substance of your Body and Blood. All powerful Lord, say over me the word which will change me into You. ~ Anthony Mary Claret

Don't you see, Rosalia? I wouldn't mind giving up Paris for you. That's why I can think about staying here or even asking you to come with me to Paris. I can't envision being without you. Before, you said I was being kind to you when I told you how it makes me sad when you're sad, and happy when you're happy. But I'm not being kind. I'm falling in love with you. Can't you see that? I'm crazy about you, and it's tearing me up on the inside. You're all I think about when I wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night. You're in my dreams. Even when I'm struggling over how to make a better pastry better, you pop up into my mind! I wonder what you would add to make it better. Then again, whom are we fooling? Your desserts are always better than mine!"
Rosalia lowered her eyes and said softly, "That's not true. You've won a few of the contests we've had. Madre Carmela wouldn't lie."
"She's getting old. Her palate is changing. I've heard the other workers who have tried your pastries express how good yours are and how they're often better than everyone else's."
Rosalia folded her hands in her lap. He is falling in love with me. He'd said it! Though she was frightened to hear this, she couldn't deny that she was also elated.
Antonio came back to the bed and sat down next to her. This time, he closed the space between them. He pushed her hair back behind her ear, and then took her face in both of his hands. She had no choice but to look at him.
"I love you ~ Rosanna Chiofalo

My mind has taken over my heart,and now there is nothing left to be discussed. ~ Narjit Singh

Anyone walking by would think we were drunk. Is that what this is? It's chemistry, I know that for sure, something numbing and piercing at once, something that makes me feel like I'm alive for the first time and dead in other ways--murdered memories of what anyone else felt like before this man. Murdered memories of what it felt like to be over a hundred miles away. I know the weight of his hands and body, how he tastes just like me after only two deep kisses, the way his laugh turns into moans, and how he watches my hands when I touch him. ~ Christina Lauren

I should like these few words to be read over the grave when my body is placed in the earth; for though it is possible I may be present and conscious of what is going on, I shall not be able to communicate. ~ Edward Carpenter

Yes, you're adorable, aren't you? Are you a good boy, Snugglepumpkin?" Oberon wagged his tail and came over within petting distance. "Oh, yes, you are a good boy, yes, you are." She stopped making sense and instead made high-pitched squeals of delight as she scratched Oberon's giant head; the rest of us stood and watched as a woman with an advanced degree completely lost her mind. Okay, ~ Kevin Hearne

Seriously? You've never done this for your friends before?" Trent shrugs. He manages to stay straight-faced for another three seconds before a sly smile betrays him. "Yeah, tons of times. But I liked letting you feel me up." A loud chorus of snickers and laughter erupts. They all knew he was playing me. How did they all know and I have no clue? Probably because I'm too busy drooling over his body to notice his practiced movements. ~ K.A. Tucker

She knew what he'd be like. Being near him would start out as a rollercoaster ride - her nerves would be frayed and she'd be completely terrified. With every inch toward the sky, Severine would want to be back on the ground. Then the ride would take off. She'd have no time to think. The ride would direct her body which way to go, and her stomach would drop at the rush of speed. Her eyes would be clenched tightly because she'd be too afraid to look around. At the end, everything would slow, and it would all be over. With her pulse racing, and a high running through her system, she'd walk away, ~ Calia Read

Because they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, he gave them over to a reprobate mind ~ William Wilberforce

On the beach, at dawn: Four small stones clearly Hugging each other. How many kinds of love Might there be in the world, And how many formations might they make And who am I ever To imagine I could know Such a marvelous business? When the sun broke It poured willingly its light Over the stones That did not move, not at all, Just as, to its always generous term, It shed its light on me, My own body that loves, Equally, to hug another body. ~ Mary Oliver

Today, when people say they cannot believe, it is not a mental problem; it is a matter of the will of the heart- they do not want to believe. Some say they have certain 'mental reservations,' mental hurdles which they cannot get over. My friend, your mind is not big enough to take even one little hurdle. The problem is never in the mind but in the will. There is sin in the life, and a man does not want to turn to God; he does not want to believe Him. ~ J. Vernon McGee

It was your mind. The way you were wired. That was the only thing all the theories had in common. You were manic. You were depressive. You were schizophrenic. You were on drugs. You were on the wrong medication. You needed medication. You heard voices. You'd lost the will to speak. Anxiety. Disorder. Nobody knew for sure, at least nobody who was saying anything. After you left, all the remained were guesses. I would go over everything. Every detail. Every panic. Every sigh. But they never added up to anything but you. I only saw the person. I couldn't see the wiring. I couldn't fix the wiring.
I tried I tried I ~ David Levithan

'God' is a relative word and has a respect to servants, and 'Deity' is the dominion of God, not over his own body, as those imagine who fancy God to be the soul of the world, but over servants. ~ Isaac Newton

But my whole body is one pain. I cannot stand on my legs anymore. I stagger. I fall back on my bed. My eyes close and fill with smarting tears. I want to be crucified on the wall, but I cannot. My body becomes heavier and heavier and filled with sharper pain. My flesh is enraged against me.
I hear voices through the wall. The next room vibrates with a distant sound, a mist of sound which scarcely comes through the wall.
I shall not be able to listen anymore, or look into the room, or hear anything distinctly. And I, who have not cried since my childhood, I cry now like a child because of all that I shall never have. I cry over lost beauty and grandeur. I love everything that I should have embraced. ~ Henri Barbusse

We passed the great arid deserts of the West, driving through canyons and beneath rocky outcroppings and over great crevasses. We drove through the Mojave Desert, Owens Valley and Death Valley, and the dust entered our bloodstream and flowed through to every part of our body. The West was both eerie and breathtakingly beautiful, and we wanted to live there forever. ~ Karl Wiggins

I have come to know that adversity really means the things in life that challenge us and cause us to work with devotion and courage to overcome. I once stood on a street in Trondheim, Norway, looking up at a statue of a Viking. There came to my mind at that time a fable of the Norsemen that when a man won a victory over another, the strength of the conquered went over into his veins. Therefore, in this sense adversity is good, for it produces in us a source of strength as we learn to conquer our weaknesses. ~ Alvin R. Dyer

Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying motherhood lacks meaning. There's great dignity in the smallness of motherhood; we're essential in our contingency. And though we may not follow the Western model of the epic hero, we mothers can find a metaphor for our lives.

The metaphor is in the kuroko, the Kabuki theater stage assistant. You've heard of Kabuki - with its wildly theatrical actors, its gorgeous costumes, and spectacular scale. The kuroko are assistants who help the actors move through their elaborate dramas. Meant to provide unobtrusive assistance with props and costumes, kuroko try to remain in the wings. They huddle in half-kneeling posture, wearing black bags over their heads and bodies - the better to recede into both actors' and audience's preconscious mind.

Scurrying to arrange the trailing hems of heavy brocade kimonos, like an American mother repeatedly straightening her daughter's wedding train, the kuroko's role is to suport the real players of life's dramas. ~ Lydia Minatoya

I took to studying the ones of my teachers who are also preachers ... Everything bad was laid on the body, and everything good was credited to the soul. It scared me a little when I realized that I saw it the other way around. If the soul and body really were divided, than it seemed to me that all the worst sins - hatred and anger and self-righteousness and even greed and lust - came from the soul. But these preachers I'm talking about all thought that the soul could do no wrong, but always had its face washed and its pants on and was in agony over having to associate with the flesh and the world. And yet these same people believed in the resurrection of the body. ~ Wendell Berry

Another example of how a metaphor can create new meaning for us came about by accident. An Iranian student, shortly after his arrival in Berkeley, took a seminar on metaphor from one of us. Among the wondrous things that he found in Berkeley was an expression that he heard over and over and understood as a beautifully sane metaphor. The expression was "the solution of my problems" - which he took to be a large volume of liquid, bubbling and smoking, containing all of your problems, either dissolved or in the form of precipitates, with catalysts constantly dissolving some problems (for the time being) and precipitating out others. He was terribly disillusioned to find that the residents of Berkeley had no such chemical metaphor in mind. And well he might be, for the chemical metaphor is both beautiful and insightful. It gives us a view of problems as things that never disappear utterly and that cannot be solved once and for all. All of your problems are always present, only they may be dissolved and in solution, or they may be in solid form. The best you can hope for is to find a catalyst that will make one problem dissolve without making another one precipitate out. [...] The CHEMICAL metaphor gives us a new view of human problems. It is appropriate to the experience of finding that problems which we once thought were "solved" turn up again and again. The CHEMICAL metaphor says that problems are not the kind of things that can be made to disappear forever. To treat them as th ~ George Lakoff

Last month, on a very windy day, I was returning from a lecture I had given to a group in Fort Washington. I was beginning to feel unwell. I was feeling increasing spasms in my legs and back and became anxious as I anticipated a difficult ride back to my office. Making matters worse, I knew I had to travel two of the most treacherous high-speed roads near Philadelphia – the four-lane Schuylkill Expressway and the six-lane Blue Route.

You've been in my van, so you know how it's been outfitted with everything I need to drive. But you probably don't realize that I often drive more slowly than other people. That's because I have difficulty with body control. I'm especially careful on windy days when the van can be buffeted by sudden gusts. And if I'm having problems with spasms or high blood pressure, I stay way over in the right hand lane and drive well below the speed limit.

When I'm driving slowly, people behind me tend to get impatient. They speed up to my car, blow their horns, drive by, stare at me angrily, and show me how long their fingers can get. (I don't understand why some people are so proud of the length of their fingers, but there are many things I don't understand.) Those angry drivers add stress to what already is a stressful experience of driving.

On this particular day, I was driving by myself. At first, I drove slowly along back roads. Whenever someone approached, I pulled over and let them pass. But as I neared the Blue Route, ~ Daniel Gottlieb

The hand that rested on my shoulder rubbed it a bit, comfortingly. Then it gave my shoulder a little squeeze. I leaned into him.

Maybe it was that I was broken. Maybe it was just that I was out of my mind. But it occurred to me that I was going to kiss him. The thought just arrived, certain knowledge, delivered from some greater, more knowledgeable place. I was going to kiss him. Stephen would not want to kiss me. He would back up in horror. And yet, I was still going to do it. I reached over, and put my hand against his chest, then I moved closer. I could feel just the very tips of the gentle stubble on his cheek brushing against my skin.

"Rory," he said. But it was a quiet protest, and it went nowhere.

For the first few seconds, he didn't move-he accepted the kiss like you might accept a spoonful of medicine. Then I heard it, a sigh, like he had finally set down a heavy weight.

I was pretty sure we were both kind of terrified, but I was completely sure that we were both doing this. We kissed slowly, very deliberately, coming together and then pulling apart and looking at each other. Then each kiss got longer, and then it didn't stop. Stephen put his hand just under the edge of my shirt, holding it on the spot where the scar was. Sometimes the skin around the scar got cold-now it was warm. Now it was alive.

"So Thorpe says that-Seriously?"

Callum was in the doorway.

Stephen mumbled what I think was ~ Maureen Johnson

Don't you think we're going to go to hell for this?" asked Lissa.
He reached out and touched her face, trailing his fingers along her cheek and neck and down to the top of her silky shirt. She breathed heavily at that touch, at the way it could be so gentle and small, yet evoke such a strong passion within her.
"For this?" He played with the shirt's edge, letting his finger just barely brush inside of it.
"No," she laughed. "For this." She gestured around the attic. "This is a church. We shouldn't be doing this kind of, um, thing up here."
"Not true," he argued. Gently, he pushed her onto her back and leaned over her. "The church is downstairs. This is just storage. God won't mind. ~ Richelle Mead

Firmly planted. Not fallen from on high: sprung up from below. Ochre, the color of burnt honey. The color of a sun buried a thousand years ago and dug up only yesterday. Fresh green and orange stripes running across its still-warm body. Circles, Greek frets: scattered traces of a lost alphabet? The belly of a woman heavy with child, the neck of a bird. If you cover and uncover its mouth with the palm of your hand, it answers you with a deep murmur, the sound of bubbling water welling up from its depths; if you tap its sides with your knuckles, it gives a tinkling laugh of little silver coins falling on stones. It has many tongues: it speaks of the language of clay and minerals, of air currents flowing between canyon walls, of washerwomen as they scrub, of angry skies, of rain. A vessel of baked clay: do not put it in a glass case alongside rare precious objects. It would look quite out of place. Its beauty is related to the liquid that it contains and to the thirst that it quenches. Its beauty is corporal: I see it, I touch it, I smell it, I hear it. If it is empty, It must be filled; if it is full, it must be emptied. I take it by the shaped handle as I would take a woman by the arm, I lift it up, I tip over a pitcher into which I pour milk or pulque - lunar liquids that open and close the doors of dawn and dark, waking a sleeping. ~ Octavio Paz

She'd already accepted that she loved him, hadn't she? And it had been easy, a simple process of steps and study. Her mind was amde up, her goals set. Damn it, she'd been pleased by the whole business.
So what was this shaky, dizzy, painful sensation, this clutch of panic that made her want to turn her mount sharply around and ride as far away as possible?
She'd been wrong, Keeyley realized as she pressed an unsteady hand to her jumpy heart.She'd only been falling in love up to now.How foolish of her to be lulled by the smooth slide of it.This was the moment, she understood that now. This was the moment the bottom dropped away and sent her crashing.
Now the wind was knocked out of her, that same shock of sensation that came from losing your seat over a jump and findng yourself flipping through space until the ground reached up and smacked into you. Jolting bones and head and heart.
Love was an outrageous shock to the system, she thought. It was a wonder anyone survived it.
She was a Grant, Keeley reminded herself and straightened in the saddle. She knew how to take a tumble, jsut as she knew how to pick herself back up and focus mind and energy on the goal. She wouldn't just survive this knock to the heart.She'd thrive on it.And when she was done with Brian Donnelly, he wouldn't know what had hit him. ~ Nora Roberts

Behind me, Marc made a soft whistling sound, clearly impressed. "That's not standard procedure," he said, his tone entirely too reasonable as he leaned over the stray's body to open the back passenger-side door.
"Yeah, well, I'm not your standard enforcer. ~ Rachel Vincent

The political antagonisms of today are not controversies over ultimate questions of philosophy, but opposing answers to the question how a goal that all
acknowledge as legitimate can be achieved most quickly and with the least sacrifice.
This goal, at which all men aim, is the best possible satisfaction of human wants; it is prosperity and abundance. Of course, this is not all that men aspire to, but it is all that they can expect to attain by resort to external means and by way of social cooperation. The inner blessings - happiness, peace of mind, exaltation - must be sought by each man within himself alone.
Liberalism is no religion, no world view, no party of special interests. It is no religion because it demands neither faith nor devotion, because there is nothing mystical about it, and because it has no dogmas. It is no world view because it does not try to explain the cosmos and because it says nothing and does not seek to say anything about the meaning and purpose of human existence. It is no party of special interests because it does not provide or seek to provide any special advantage whatsoever to any individual or any group. It is something entirely different. It is an ideology, a doctrine of the mutual relationship among the members of society and, at the same time, the application of this doctrine to the conduct of men in actual society.
It promises nothing that exceeds what can be accomplished in society and through society. It seeks to giv ~ Ludwig Von Mises

I don't seem able to get it straight in my mind.... ~ Ken Kesey

The faintest cry is then loosened from her in a lucid expression that does announce her bestirring itch for me. Over and under each other's lips, we now find ourselves salivating in each other's recalescent and inundated Elysium, turning about as our hips move in a natural sequence that gives sentience to the repressed soul. ~ Luccini Shurod

Her soft voice played over his senses like it always had, her English accent more pronounced than ever. Or was that because his ears had become acclimatized to the Australian accents around him again?
He didn't know.
He pulled in a slow breath, headache forgotten, the subtle scent of Emily's perfume filtering into his body. His stomach knotted, his balls grew harder, that delicate fragrance flooding him with memories too haunting to bear. She'd cured him of anaplastic astrocytoma, and in the process inflicted him with something else. Something powerful and - he was discovering all too quickly - inescapable. ~ Lexxie Couper

I stared down at the white bikini in horror. My cleavage was out in full form, while the bikini bottoms hugged my hips, tinier than anything I'd ever dare buy for myself. What the hell was Gavin Fletcher thinking putting me in something like this? And he wanted me to go outside in it, much less get my picture taken?
Yeah, right! That was absolutely not happening.
"We haven't got all day, Lani," Martin barked from on deck.
I put my head in my hands, sighing deeply before brushing my hair back from my eyes. What the hell had I gotten myself into?
There was a gentle rapping on the bedroom door, and I opened it, wishing I had a towel to cover up with. Gavin's gold-flecked eyes met mine, and I stepped back to let him in. He sucked in a breath, looking me over in that brash way of his, his lips curling into a grin.
"Now that's what I've been hoping for," he said.
I laughed nervously and crossed my arms in front of my body. "I don't know if I can do this. You heard Martin out there."
Gavin reached forward and put a hand on my arm, smoothing his large palm over my skin. I shivered beneath his touch, feeling the heat from a connection I wondered if he felt, too. Judging by the heat in his gaze, he did, but how was that even possible? I couldn't be reading him right.
"You look stunning, Aolani," he said, that dangerous, bad-boy smile of his making my toes curl. "You're exactly what I've been waiting for. Exactly what this campaign needs. Pleas ~ Delilah Fawkes

Alec isn't happy," said Magnus, as if she hadn't spoken.
"Of course he isn't," Isabelle snapped. "Jace - "
"Jace," said Magnus, and his hands made fists at his sides. Isabelle stared at him. She had always thought that he didn't mind Jace; liked him, even, once the question of Alec's affections had been settled. Out loud, she said:
"I thought you were friends."
"It's not that," said Magnus. "There are some people - people the universe seems to have singled out for special destinies. Special favors and special torments. God knows we're all drawn toward what's beautiful and broken; I have been, but some people cannot be fixed. Or if they can be, it's only by love and sacrifice so great it destroys the giver."
Isabelle shook her head slowly. "You've lost me. Jace is our brother, but for Alec - he's Jace's parabatai too - "
"I know about parabatai," said Magnus, his voice rising in pitch. "I've known parabatai so close they were almost the same person; do you know what happens, when one of them dies, to the one that's left - "
"Stop it!" Isabelle clapped her hands over her ears, then lowered them slowly. "How dare you, Magnus Bane," she said.
"How dare you make this worse than it is - "
"Isabelle." Magnus' hands loosened; he looked a little wide-eyed, as if his outburst had startled even him. "I am sorry. I forget, sometimes . . . that with all your self-control and strength, you possess the same vulnerability that Alec does."
Cassandra Clare

Puritan leaders, at least, valued an educated mind over material riches. Cotton Mather admonished his congregation with the comment, "If your main concern be to get the riches of this world for your children, and leave a belly full of this world unto them, it looks very suspiciously as if you were yourselves the people of this world, whose portion is only in this life."30 ~ Leland Ryken

The state of mind above which my distraction floats like fog is suddenly perfectly clear, though the right word for it is less immediately available. Grief is too sharp and immediate; maybe it's the high pitch of the vowel sound, or the monosyllabic impact of the word, as quick a jab as knife or cut.
Sadness is too ephemeral, somehow; it sounds like something that comes and goes, a response to an immediate cause which will pass in a little while as another cause arises to generate a different feeling.
Mourning isn't bad, but there's something a little archaic about it. I think of widows keening, striking themselves- dark-swathed years, a closeting of self away from the world, turned inward toward an interior dark.
Sorrow feels right , for now. Sorrow seems large and inhabitable, an interior season whose vaulted sky's a suitable match for the gray and white tumult arched over these headlands. A sorrow is not to be gotten over or moved through in quite the way that sadness is, yet sorrow is also not as frozen and monochromatic as mourning. Sadness exists inside my sorrow, but it's not as large as sorrow's realm. This sorrow is capacious; there's room inside it for the everyday, for going about the workaday stuff of life. And for loveliness, for whatever we're to be given by the daily walk. ~ Mark Doty