Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Sanctum. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Sanctum Quotes And Sayings by 95 Authors including Erich Maria Remarque,Edward Abbey,Jeremy C. Shipp,Thomas Love Peacock,James Baldwin for you to enjoy and share.
The invisible storehouse in nothingness, called memory.
The highest treason, the meanest treason, is to deny the holiness of this little blue planet on which we journey through the cold void of space. South
This is the Torture Room. But don't let the name fool you. This is a tent, not a room.
Clouds on clouds, in volumes driven, curtain round the vault of heaven.
I scarcely know how to describe that room. It became, in a way, every room I had ever been in and every room I find myself in hereafter will remind me of Giovanni's room.
The sense of space within the reality of any building is a new concept wherever architecture is concerned. But it is essential ancient principle just the same and is not only necessary now but implied by the ideal of democracy itself.
An erect building is a shackled slave. I hear the mutinous grumbling of vertical buildings. I hear the grinding frustration of those compelled against their will to remain standing. A building is energy crucified against space and time.
The secret prayer chamber is a bloody battleground. Here violent and decisive battles are fought out. Here the fate of
souls for time and eternity is determined, in quietude and
solitude.
My home ... It is my retreat and resting place from wars, I try to keep this corner as a haven against the tempest outside, as I do another corner in my soul.
I am in an undisclosed location. I call it . . . the Laaaair." "The Lair?" Steve said, laughing. "Hey, every Evil Overlord has to have a lair," Tyler said. "I couldn't find a volcano next to a piranha pit but it's close . . .
Every human being has to build a secret temple in his soul where he can shelter himself and find himself again and again.
Every apartment devoted to the circulation of the glass, may be regarded as a temple set apart for the performance of human sacrifices. And they ought to be fitted up like the ancient temples in Egypt, in a manner to show the real atrocity of the superstition that is carried on within their walls.
Super-luxury hotels are being built in outer space.
The new type of heaven is being offered to humans.
What sort of space is that which separates a man from his fellows and makes him solitary?
Heaven ... a place where everything that is not music is silence.
This is a temple to lost knowledge, girl. This is where sense comes to die. This is where we learn to live when the world is empty.
This is a forsaken place ... I can think of no use for a place like this, except that you could say of it: I saw the heart of nothing, and survived.
Up there in my retreat, I feel the city calling to me. It winks at me with its myriad eyes, and I go out and get stiff as a board. I seek out companionship, and if I do not find friends, I make them. A wonderful, grand old Babylon.
It was the kind of place you went when your earthly troubles became too much for you and you were looking for a creative way to commit suicide.
Home - the nursery of the Infinite.
There is but one temple in the universe, and that is the body of man.
Out Milky Way is the dwelling; the nebulae are the city.
Oh Rome! My country! City of the soul!
Architecture is a rare collective profession: it's always exercised by groups. There is an essential modesty, which is a complete contradiction to the notion of a star.
Naples sitteth by the sea, keystone of an arch of azure.
THE SECRET GARDEN
Solitude is the audience-chamber of God.
Your life sparks fires from within your innermost temple. No one can reach there but you, it is your inner sanctum. You are your own master there, only you can reach and ignite the fire.
[Rome], who was formerly the gate of heaven, is now a sort of open mouth of hell.
What other dungeon is so dark as one's own heart! What jailer so in exorable as one's self!
The asynarte city; two rhythms unconnected, profanity, holiness, and out of that strange bed, art.
From Santi's earthly tomb with demon's hole,
'Cross Rome the mystic elements unfold.
The path of light is laid, the sacred test,
Let angels guide you on your lofty quest.
Silence, sometimes my fortress, always my prison.
Beyond the snowy trees, the endless high-rises of Seoul have faded to a blurry gray shadow, but their presence hasn't dwindled. Even in the poor visibility, there's no denying that the city feels like the walls of a fortress, a fortress that is both protecting us and trapping us.
I take sanctuary in an honest mediocrity.
Hello - what hotel is this - ?
In architecture, space was a material to be shaped, even created. For these men, the material was silence. Silence like water in which you could drown, the absence of talk as constricting as the absence of air.
It was a place that is trying to destroy the individual by every means possible; trying to break his spirit, so that he accepts that he is No. 6 and will live there happily as No. 6 for ever after. And this is the one rebel that they can't break.
The space within becomes the reality of the building.
I have watched patients stand and gaze longingly toward the city they in all likelihood will never enter again. It means liberty and life; it seems so near, and yet heaven is not further from hell.
Cradle of Solitude
For we know not why our tribulations
are given as such
our fragile forms
created from the dust ...
Here. Where I am anonymous and alone in a white room with no history and no parading. So I can make something unknown in the shape of this room. Where I am King of Corners.
Northern San Diego. The white stucco walls rose, interrupted by huge windows. The whole structure nearly floated off the pavement, sleek, modern, and somehow light, almost delicate. The salt-spiced wind blowing from the coast less than a mile away only strengthened the illusion. He'd
Inside the treasury of the dharma eye a single grain of dust.
a squatter in the ruins of empire,
There must be a place where hopes and dreams are nurtured, and that place is only within ourselves. A place to clean the grime of life, a place that waits for us to stay and look inside that we might see the truth.
The Heaven is my throne and the earth my footstool. Where is the House that you may build for Me?
There are rooms one never leaves.
The color scheme of the whole sanatorium seemed to be based on liver. Dark, glowering woodwork, burnt-brown leather chairs, walls that might once have been white but had succumbed under a spreading malady of mod or damp. A mottled brown linoleum sealed off the floor.
The Looming Tower.
I have a room whereinto no one enters
Save I myself alone:
There sits a blessed memory on a throne,
There my life centres.
An architect must remember that the people working or living in his building need space - to dream, to be quiet, to find beauty somewhere.
It is an empty room, that afterwards, a soledad, and it sits there at the center of a person's life and waits to be filled.
There was a super-8 steel town somewhere, where all the forgotten things in the cruel world ended up eventually, Mandy was sure of it ... this place, she decided, was called Smog City.
It's great that New York has large spaces for art. But the enormous immaculate box has become a dated, even oppressive place. Many of these spaces were designed for sprawling installations, large paintings, and the Relational Aesthetics work of the past fifteen years.
Home, home - a few small rooms, stiflingly over-inhabited by a man, by a periodically teeming woman, by rabble of boys and girls of all ages. No air, no space; an understerilized prison; darkness, disease and smells.
benediction. Below the window, on one of the bastioned
It is within the Soul of every one of us, where the holy Temple is built, the Temple, through which the Mind of the Universe talks to us by sending prophetic dreams to us, and controlling our mind via the Inner Voice.
Modernist buildings exclude dialogue, and the void that they create around themselves is not a public space but a desertification
Bound in a hollow of space and time, only those truly in need, without harm in their hearts, could find their way to its sanctuary.
SANE ASYLUM Ed Shank
That great Cathedral space which was childhood.
The studious silence of the library ... Tranquil brightness.
San Francisco! City of dreaming spires, people live here ... Golden Gate Bridge, ahh the Romans came here.
All architecture, which does not express serenity, fails in its spiritual mission. Thus, it has been a mistake to abandon the shelter of walls for the inclemency of large areas of glass.
My house, my house, though thou art small, Thou art to me the Escurial.
I have a nice little office, with a nice little window in it, but I do basically spend huge amounts of time in what you could consider solitary confinement.
The reality of the building does not consist of the roof and walls, but the space within to be lived.
Elysium is as far as to
The very nearest room,
If in that room a friend await
Felicity of doom.
This is not a city, it's a labyrinth. One can enter it, but there's no way one can leave.
If we are ever going to dwell in the house of the Lord, I believe, we do so now. If any house is divinely made, it is this one here, this great whirling mansion of planets and stars.
It was a palace, made entirely of gold, sitting on an island of silver snow at the very top of the world. East of the sun, and west of the moon.
It is a naked city. Faith is not pampered, nor hope encouraged; there is no place to lay one's exhaustion: but instead pinnacles skewer it undisguised against vacancy.
There was a toilet in the far corner, with nothing in it except basic facilities and about a trillion bacteria. It was like a huge three-dimensional petri dish.
I existed in a world that never is - the prison of the mind.
There is a solitude of space.
A solitude of sea. A solitude of death, but these societies shall be compared with that profounder site-that polar privacy. A soul admitted to itself
Finite infinity.
Silence, always my fortress, sometimes my prison
Cesky Krumlov, the little jewel box of a city in southern Bohemia.
the middle of the guest room at the Blue Lake Historical
New York City, city of exaggerations. Place of Herculean ascensions and perilous falls.
Kitty, The "Secret Annexe
The mind is a sacred mansion.
But no temple made with hands can compare with Yosemite. Every rock in its walls seems to glow with life ... as if into this one mountain mansion Nature had gathered her choicest treasures ...
I make spaces that are calm rather than confrontational. I seek a certain kind of logic that allows you to move in space and perceive it as beautiful and rational. Clarity is a worthwhile quality.
The inner world: those spiritual apartments to which we are reluctant to admit strangers.
London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.
-the place where we store the true parts of our soul, away from the rest of the world.
Some of the names I could not reason, like the box marked DARKNESS, or the one with DEATH OF THE FIRSTBORN written in pencil on its front. I noticed that there was a box on the top of one of these skyscrapers of boxes that was marked DUST
A temple is a landscape of the soul.
There may not be a Heaven, but there is a San Francisco.
If you had to hide me amidst your thoughts, where would you hide me ? Promise me you would put me somewhere beautiful, where i can hide quietly forever ?
The securest place is a prison cell, but there is no liberty
There is no place like it, no place with an atom of its glory, pride, and exultancy. It lays its hand upon a man's bowels; he grows drunk with ecstasy; he grows young and full of glory, he feels that he can never die.
A place for everything and everything in its place
Solitude is the house of peace.
A place to keep all your secrets
A room without boooks like a body without soul
A city whose living immediacy is so urgent that when I am in it I lose all sense of the past.
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best have gone to their eternal rest.
Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb - or Dome of Worm - or Porch of Gnome - or some Elf's Catacomb?