Rome is the city of echoes, the city of illusions, and the city of yearning.

Most people read poetry listening for echoes because the echoes are familiar to them. They wade through it the way a boy wades through water, feeling with his toes for the bottom: The echoes are the bottom.

The blues echoes right through into soul, R&B and hip hop. It's part of the make-up of modern music. You can't turn your back on the blues.

Marriage has a unique place because it speaks of an absolute faithfulness, a covenant between radically different persons, male and female; and so it echoes the absolute covenant of God with his chosen, a covenant between radically different partners.

Education is a state-controlled manufactory of echoes.

Transmogrification-that's the right word. It's been on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't quite catch it. It's a cumbersome word. It rolls through your mouth and then staccatos onto the floor in chunks of unnecessary syllables, like echoes of a thought already gone. It is a transformation, a metamorphosis that occurred not because I'd changed but because the rest of the world had.

The person who tries to live alone will not succeed as a human being. His heart withers if it does not answer another heart. His mind shrinks away if he hears only the echoes of his own thoughts and finds no other Inspirational.

I ascended the mountains to hear the voice of God, and was answered in echoes from afar.

I call them sacred echoes because I noticed that throughout my relationships, daily life, and study, the same scripturally sound idea or phrase or word will keep reappearing until I can no longer avoid its presence." -The Sacred Echo

"What if one were to want to hunt for these hidden presences? You can't just rummage around like you're at a yard sale. You have to listen. You have to pay attention. There are certain things you can't look at directly. You need to trick them into revealing themselves. That's what we're doing with Walter, Jaz. We're juxtaposing things, listening for echoes. It's not some silly cybernetic dream of command and control, modeling the whole world so you can predict the outcome. It's certainly not a theory of everything. I don't have a theory of any kind. What I have is far more profound.'

For a moment everything was clear, and when that happens you see that the world is barely there at all. Don't we all secretly know this? It's a perfectly balanced mechanism of shouts and echoes pretending to be wheels and cogs, a dreamclock chiming beneath a mystery-glass we call life. Behind it? Below it and around it? Chaos, storms. Men with hammers, men with knives, men with guns. Women who twist what they cannot dominate and belittle what they cannot understand. A universe of horror and loss surrounding a single lighted stage where mortals dance in defiance of the dark.

A broken heart in real life isn't half as dreadful as it is in books. It's a good deal like a bad tooth, though you won't think THAT a very romantic simile. It takes spells of aching and gives you a sleepless night now and then, but between times it lets you enjoy life and dreams and echoes and peanut candy as if there were nothing the matter with it.

Most people read poetry listening for echoes because the echoes are familiar to them. They wade through it the way a boy wades through water feeling with his toes for the bottom: The echoes are the bottom.

Marriage has a unique place because it speaks of an absolute faithfulness a covenant between radically different persons male and female and so it echoes the absolute covenant of God with his chosen a covenant between radically different partners.

Education is a state-controlled manufactory of echoes.

The person who tries to live alone will not succeed as a human being. His heart withers if it does not answer another heart. His mind shrinks away if he hears only the echoes of his own thoughts and finds no other inspiration.