Quotes About Strangers

Men always talk about the most important things to perfect strangers. In the perfect stranger we perceive man himself; the image of a God is not disguised by resemblances to an uncle or doubts of wisdom of a mustache.

People pretend to know me when they don't. I feel uncomfortable when I feel like I don't remember someone.

That's one of the difficult things of being an actor that I'm still not used to. You have to go, you have to show up at these places where you know nobody, and sometimes with really impressive, high stakes people like Roman Polanski.

Borders are scratched across the hearts of men By strangers with a calm, judicial pen, And when the borders bleed we watch with dread The lines of ink across the map turn red.

I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.

matters. Do you think, my daughters, that it is an easy matter to have to do business with the world, to live in the world, to engage in the affairs of the world, and, as I have said, to live as worldly men do, and yet inwardly to be strangers to the world, and enemies of the world, like persons who are in exile -- to be, in short, not men but angels?

My life is scribbling and scratching and half finished pages at dawn. If anything, I've learned you can't always go home... You can't always be warm inside. That without love, we're never more than strangers in paradise!

Queen Mary remained as remote from her sons as adults as she had from them as children. 'They were strangers to her emotionally,' wrote her Lady-in-Waiting, Lady Airlie, 'a nest of wild birds already spreading their wings and soaring beyond her horizon.

The lesson I learned was that some people will take what they want, whenever they want, with no guilt or thought of the consequences, and that evil people existed to prey upon the innocent. But from experience, I also knew cruelty wasn't always delivered by strangers. Sometimes abuse came directly from the people who should have cared the most, and it could take place in the dark heart of any family.

Let me put it this way, I lived in L.A. for 10 years and did not know my neighbors.

I think of New Yorkers as not taking the time to talk to someone they don't know.

It's always nice when someone you don't know comes up to you and says a couple nice things about your work. It's always a pleasure.

I read once that women love mysterious strangers.

It's love this and love that but of couse it's so easy to love someone you don't know, whether it's George Clooney or Monkey. Staying civil to someone with whom you've ever shared Christmas turkey- now there's a miracle.

There are times when the kindness of strangers only makes things worse because one realizes how badly one is in need of kindness and that the only source is a stranger.

she gave him one of those broad smiles she reserved for strangers, as if she were aware of being able to pass, in their eyes, for an ordinary woman.

There are times when the kindness of strangers only makes matter worse because one realizes how badly one is in need of kindness and that the only source is a stranger.

our eyes locked in one of those looks that sometimes happen between strangers, when both wordlessly agree that reality contains sinkholes whose depths neither can ever hope to fathom.

the people who arrive to us from nowhere and nothing are only ever that: a gift, received without having known to ask, with only the wonder of how life delivers and delivers.

Reading is a solitary pursuit, even a lone passage to a separate world. Yet to read in public, amid strangers, gives it another dimension. Sometimes the city speaks to the page, or the page seems to open up to people passing by. An outdoor reader shares the pulse of a timeless urban conversation between the world and the written word.

I care about strangers when they're abstractions, but I feel almost nothing when they're literally in front of me.

When we die, these are the stories still on our lips. The stories we'll only tell strangers, someplace private in the padded cell of midnight. These important stories, we rehearse them for years in our head but never tell. These stories are ghosts, bringing people back from the dead. Just for a moment. For a visit. Every story is a ghost.

You kill strangers deliberately so you don't accidentally kill the people you love.

A hotel, he told me, was a big house where a lot of people lived and ate and slept, but no one knew each other. He said that described most families in the outside world.