Quotes About Chaos

And that makes it okay?" "Yep. Because that's the balance." "And I, to keep within your metaphor, disturbed the balance?" "Exactly. That's the beauty of our system. It can be tweaked and twisted—Lord knows I do it all the time—but when you keep within it, right or wrong, it somehow works. When you don't, when you lose balance even with the best of intentions, it leads to chaos and catastrophe." "That

Anomalies are to be expected, but there is still a certain pattern to the chaos.

Times Square is an assault on every sense, and somehow that includes not only scent but taste. Everything is in motion and swirling and you want to give the entire square a giant Adderall. There

The butterfly effect. Change one thing, you change everything.

The world is neither cruel nor joyous. It is simply random, full of particles hurtling, chemicals mixing and reacting. There is no real order. There is no preordained cursing of the evil and protecting of the righteous. Chaos, baby. It's all about chaos. And

Life was random, choosing to coddle some and destroy others without plan or justification. That was just how things worked. Accept it and move on.

My kick had landed on Bob's skull with force, jerking his head to the side. Bob's hands instinctively leapt off the steering wheel. The car veered sharply, sending Otto and me—and the gun—into a rolling heap. It was on.

And then we were all lifted and hurled away from there, down back the way we had come, around a bend, into a darkway we had never explored, over terrain that was ruined and filled with broken glass and rotting cables and rusted metal and far away further than any of us had ever been

Socrates, in Plato, formulates ideas of order: the Iliad, like Shakespeare, knows that a violent disorder is a great order.

There's something in our world that makes men lose their heads

Hey, Mr. Nakata. Gramps. Fire! Flood! Earthquake! Revolution! Godzilla's on the loose! Get up !

Now for a good twelve-hour sleep, I told myself. Twelve solid hours. Let birds sing, let people go to work. Somewhere out there, a volcano might blow, Israeli commandos might decimate a Palestinian village. I couldn't stop it. I was going to sleep.

It's basically impossible for everybody's justice to prevail or everybody's happiness to triumph, so chaos takes over.

Well, finally, the events I've been through have been tremendously complicated. All kinds of characters have come on the scene, and strange things have happened one after another, to the point where, if I try to think about them in order, I lose track.

It was a narrow world, a world that was standing still. But the narrower it became, the more it betook of stillness, the more this world that enveloped me seemed to overflow with things and people that could only be called strange. They had been there all the while, it seemed, waiting in the shadows for me to stop moving. And every time the wind-up bird came to my yard to wind its spring, the world descendedmore deeply into chaos.

M.: Do you think Mahler thought he was doing something avant-garde? O.: I don't think so. M.: Schoenberg and Alban Berg were certainly conscious of being avant-garde, though. O.: Oh, very much so. They had their "method". Mahler had no such thing. M.: So he flirted with chaos, not as a methodology, but naturally and instinctively. Is that what you are saying? O.: Yes. Isn't that exactly where his genius lies?

I myself have adopted the position that, in fact, we never choose anything at all. Things happen. Or not.

The voice of the light remains ever so faint; images quiet as ancient constellations float across the domw of my dawning mind. They are indistinct fragments that never merge into a sensate picture. There would be a landscape I have not seen before, unfamiliar melodic echoes, whisperings in a chaos of tongues.

But Nakata wasn't afraid of the darkness or how deep it was. And why should he be? That bottomless world of darkness, that weighty silence and chaos, was an old friend, a part of him already.

I was trying my best to straighten out my life, but I always ended up in the middle of some festive waste of time.

There was a way that you could sleep properly when a house had been straightened up, when all the Ranger Ricks were put up on the shelf and the toys were put in the plastic box and tomorrow's clothes were laid out neatly on a chair. But then again, when everything was left out all over the floor and the dishes were still in the sink, there was a way that you could dream.

Out of seeming chaos, God manages to bring order. Sometimes it's hard to see the plan when we are running around, responding to circumstances. But He knows. He has the bigger picture. He is in control. And as we offer up the little we have, He multiplies it into something amazing.

The silent worker is imagination which decrees reality out of chaos.

I sometimes start keeping a journal about the writing process itself. Particularly when I get the ideas, and I am trying to brood over the chaos phase. In writing a novel, you really have to brood over a lot of chaos of ideas and possibilities.