What's the future of mankind? How do I know, I got left behind.
Future complications in the strings between the cans. But no prints can come from fingers, if machines become our hands.
The premonition of madness is complicated by the fear of lucidity in madness, the fear of the moments of return and reunion... One would welcome chaos if one were not afraid of lights in it.
The sun was already declining and each of the trees held a premonition of night.
The horizon has been defeated by the pirates of the new age.
When I look at the world it fills me with sorrow, little children today are really going to suffer tomorrow.
He said he loved me,” she whispered. Daniel swallowed, and he had the strangest sensation, almost a premonition of what it must like to be a parent. Someday, God willing, he’d have a daughter, and that daughter would look like the woman standing in front of him, and if ever she looked at him with that bewildered expression, whispering, “He said he loved me . . .” Nothing short of murder would be an acceptable response.
Children of the future, watching empires fall. Madness the cup they drink from, self destruction the toll.
Swift is the arrow, dark is the thorn, the slate is clean, the future awaits, awake.
She'll prophesy your death. She won't say when.
The forecast today is love all around.
Jewel of life, guiding light, heralding a joyous new dawn.
Outside sleep's open window, between the drops of rain, history is writing a recipe book for every earthly pain.
Look to the past and remember no empire rises that sooner or later won't fall.
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children.
Louis Armstrong playing trumpet on the Judgment Day.
I predict the future of this earthly human race is that having made a mess of Earth they'll move to outer space.
I dreamed I saw a mighty room, the room was filled with men. And the paper they were signing said they'd never fight again.
A terrible premonition washed over me. This was how the whole world would end.... They would devour the forest and excrete piles of buildings made of stone wrenched from the earth or from dead trees. They would hammer paths of bare stone between their dwellings, and dirty the rivers and subdue the land until it could recall only the will of man. They could not stop themselves from doing what they did. They did not see what they did, and even if they saw, they did not know how to stop. They no longer knew what was enough.
I don't have any premonitions. I don't have any supernatural powers. I just have a typical woman's intuition, and I go with that.
It is not like a premonition of death. It is as if she died a long time ago, and she just now remembered it.
Anyone who can read history with both hemispheres of the brain knows that a world comes to an end every instant--the waves of time leave washed up behind themselves only dry memories of a closed & petrified past--imperfect memory, itself already dying & autumnal. And every instant also gives birth to a world--despite the cavillings of philosophers & scientists whose bodies have grown numb--a present in which all impossibilities are renewed, where regret & premonition fade to nothing in one presential hologrammatical psychomantric gesture.
I have some telekinesis, which you already discovered. Premonitions. Can see auras and…I make a killer omelet.” – Sundown
The paradox of love is that to have it is to want to preserve it because it's perfect in the moment but that preservation is impossible because the perfection is only ever an instant passed through. Love like travel is a series of moments that we immediately leave behind. Still we try to hold on and embalm against all evidence and common sense proclaiming our promises and plans. The more I loved him the more I felt hope. But hope acknowledges uncertainty and so I also felt my first premonitions of loss.
It is easy to see things in retrospect. But I was ignorant then of everything but my own happiness, and I don’t know what else to say except that life itself seemed very magical in those days: a web of symbol, coincidence, premonition, omen. Everything, somehow, fit together; some sly and benevolent Providence was revealing itself by degrees and I felt myself trembling on the brink of a fabulous discovery, as though any morning it was all going to come together–my future, my past, the whole of my life–and I was going to sit up in bed like a thunderbolt and say oh! oh! oh!
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