Quotes About Experience

I assumed that when the story finished, life would continue and I would go back to being myself. But it wasn't true. The stories got longer and longer, and I got smaller and smaller. When I told Big Mother this, she laughed her head off. "But that's how the world is, isn't it?

nce each year, my father used to take us to the symphony. We never had good seats but Ba said it didn't matter, the point was to be there, to exist in the room while music, however old it might be, was being renewed.

Once each year, my father used to take us to the symphony. We never had good seats but Ba said it didn't matter, the point was to be there, to exist in the room while music, however old it might be, was being renewed.

It embarassed her ow, the way she bruned candles so unthikingly, gazing at words that seemed to hide ideas, or ideas inexpressible in words, how the sentences had carried her forwards like a river or a piece of music. And yet how close the truth had seemed back then. She had been twenty-four years old and she had fallen in love.

Empathy is the accurate understanding of another person'ts internal experience. It has nothing to do with agreeing or disagreeing with that experience. Unlike sympathy, it makes no assumptions about how the other person is feeling.

Empathy is the accurate understanding of another person's internal experience. It has nothing to do with agreeing or disagreeing with that experience. Unlike sympathy, it makes no assumptions about how the other person is feeling.

Only that: we are here. This is what it means to swim in the tide, to walk the earth and feel it touch your feet. This is what it means to be alive.

That is one thing gods and mortals share. When we are young, we think ourselves the first to have each feeling in the world.

I found myself grinning until my cheeks hurt, my scalp prickling till I thought it might lift off my head. My tongue ran away from me, giddy with freedom. This, and this, and this, I said to him. I did not have to fear that I spoke too much. I did not have to worry that I was too slender, or too slow. This and this and this! I taught him how to skip stones, and he taught me how to carve wood. I could feel every nerve in my body, every brush of air against my skin.

It was almost like fear, in the way it filled me, rising in my chest. It was almost like tears, in how swiftly it came. But it was neither of those, buoyant where they were heavy, bright were they dull.

All my life I have been moving forward, and now I am here. I have a mortal's voice, let me have the rest. I lift the brimming bowl to my lips and drink.

His fingers touched the strings and all my thoughts were displaced. The sound was pure and sweet as water, bright as lemons. It was like no music I had ever heard before. It had warmth as a fire does, a texture and weight like polished ivory. It buoyed and soothed at once.

Do not try to take my regret from me.

That old sickening feeling returned: that every moment of my life I had been a fool.

The words slid into me, smooth as a polished knife.

All those years I had spent with them were like a stone tossed in a pool. Already, the ripples were gone.

I had walked the earth for a hundred generations, yet I was still a child to myself.

It was almost like fear, in the way it filled me, rising in my chest. It was almost like tears, in how swiftly it came.

At least, I thought in those early days, once I cast a spell, I would not have to learn it again. But even that was not true. However often I had used an herb before, each cutting had its own character. One rose would give up its secrets if it were ground, another must be pressed, a third steeped. Each spell was a montain to be climbed anew. All I could carry with me from last time was the knowedge that it could be done.

He smiled at me, and I saw the lines where other smiles had been.

This was the cruelty of adults. Do you understand?

At least, I thought in those early days, once I cast a spell, I would not have to learn it again. But even that was not true. However often I had used an herb before, each cutting had its own character. One rose would give up its secrets if it were ground, another must be pressed, a third steeped. Each spell was a mountain to be climbed anew. All I could carry with me from last time was the knowledge that it could be done.

But a cracked heart was not enough, and I had grown wise enough to know it. I kissed him and left him there.

A pleasure rose in me so old and sharp it felt like pain.