Quotes About Experience

The main thing was to know the world, every twenty-five years or so, back for a couple hundred years, and if you had that info handy, always there under your belt, then you could figure out the gaps.

It's not important, believe me; the past has a way of being past.

It was all part of growing up. You got these little quick passions, you blinked, and they were gone. You forgave faults, found perfection, fell madly; then the next day the sun came up and it was over. Chalk it up to experience, old girl, and get on with the morning. Buttercup stood, made her bed, changed her clothes, combed her hair, smiled, and burst out again in a fit of weeping. Because there was a limit to just how much you could lie to yourself.

She had never looked as well. She had entered her room as just an impossibly lovely girl. The woman who emerged was a trifle thinner, a great deal wiser, an ocean sadder. This one understood the nature of pain, and beneath the glory of her features, there was character, and a sure knowledge of suffering.

Who can know when his world is going to change? Who can tell before it happens, that every prior experience, all the years, were a preparation for . . . nothing.

For the pedant, dates are deities, worthy of worship, but for the true social historian, they are minutiae only, a shorthand, convenient reminders and no more. You do not ask a Titanic survivor, 'Let me see now, just exactly when was that?' You ask him this: 'What was it like? How did you feel?' And that is the job of the social historian: to make the past vibrant for the present; to emotionally involve those of us who were not there. And to make us understand.

Love is many things, none of them logical.

She had entered her room as just an impossibly lovely girl. The woman who emerged was a trifle thinner, a great deal wiser, an ocean sadder. This one understood the nature of pain, and beneath the glory of her features, there was character, and a sure knowledge of suffering. She

In point of fact, she had never looked as well. She had entered her room as just an impossibly lovely girl. The woman who emerged was a trifle thinner, a great deal wiser, an ocean sadder. This one understood the nature of pain, and beneath the glory of her features, there was character, and a sure knowledge of suffering. She

You got these little quick passions, you blinked, and they were gone. You forgave faults, found perfection, fell madly; then the next day the sun came up and it was over. Chalk it up to experience, old girl, and get on with the morning. Buttercup stood, made her bed, changed her clothes, comber her hair, smiled, and burst out again in a fit of weeping. Because there was a limit to just how much you could lie to yourself.

Who can know when his world is going to change? Who can tell before it happens, that every prior experience, all the years, were a preparation for . . . nothing... who can sense revelation in the wind?

any experience is profitable if you allow it to be, all actions are profitable, no matter how badly you may suffer from them.

He had felt no pain, not once, none. He had closed his eyes and taken his brain away. That was the secret. If you could take your brain away from the present and sent it to where it could contemplate skin like wintry cream; well, let them enjoy themselves.

How Buttercup slid from her womb was, of course, beyond her. But she had been there when it happened; that was enough for her.

los intelectuales no pueden ser insufribles, sino hasta después de que hayan cumplido los veinticinco años; eso está en nuestros estatutos.»

Travel's greatest purpose is to replace an empty mind with an open one.

If I have not read a book before, it is, for all intents and purposes, new to me whether it was printed yesterday or three hundred years ago.

We do not see nature with our eyes, but with our understandings and our hearts.

All that is worth remembering in life, is the poetry of it

In an article I once wrote on Picnic, I compared a play to a journey, in which every moment should be as interesting as the destination.

If merely 'feeling good' could decide, drunkenness would be the supremely valid human experience.

Knowledge about life is one thing; effective occupation of a place in life, with its dynamic currents passing through your being, is another.

Whilst part of what we perceive comes through our senses from the object before us, another part (and it may be the larger part) always comes out of our own mind.

Most people, probably, are in doubt about certain matters ascribed to their past. They may have seen them, may have said them, done them, or they may only have dreamed or imagined they did so.