Quotes About Chaos

efecto mariposa»:

Patterned, repetitive stimuli lead to tolerance, while chaotic, infrequent signals produce sensitization.

Chaos is not noise, it's signal; disorder is not a mistake, it's a design element. If we view these periods as aberrations, we risk their becoming missed opportunities. If we view them as openings, we just might open up to them. Transitions are not going away; the key to benefiting from them is to not turn away. Don't shield your eyes when the scary parts start; that's when the heroes are made.

In the middle of chaos lies opportunity--Bruce Lee

First, you write for yourself... always, to make sense of experience and the world around you. It's one of the ways I stay sane. Our stories, our books, our films are how we cope with the random trauma-inducing chaos of life as it plays.

In all psychological wars, it's never over,, there's just this day, this time, and a hesitant belief in your ability to change. It is not an arena where the unsure should go looking for absolutes and there are no permanent victories. It is about a living change, filled with the insecurities , the chaos, of our own personalities, and is always one step up, two steps back.

When a world goes to pieces, when inhumanity reigns supreme, man cannot go on with business as usual.

The forces of chaos, I had learned, were only *enemy forces if you attempted to resist them. The moment you accepted the idea that your life could, and probably would, veer off in an implausible new direction at any given moment, those forces started working *for you. Because if anything was possible...well, then *anything was possible.

Hands up! Hands up! Everybody on the floor!" The effect was akin to three wild-eyed berserkers storming a prayer meeting.

The devil fetch ya, ya ragamuffin rapscallions; ye are all asleep.

E quem chegasse ao caos da boca deste monstro, fosse besta, navio ou pedra, ele engolia incontinente com sua bocarra enorme e fétida, e perecia no abismo sem fundo de seu estômago". PHILLEMON HOLLAND. "A MORAL DE PLUTARCO".

Hay en ese extraño caos que llamamos la vida algunas circunstancias y momentos absurdos en los cuales tomamos el Universo todo por una inmensa broma pesada, aunque no logremos percibir con claridad en qué consiste su gracia y sospechemos que nosotros mismos somos las víctimas de las burlas.

Such unaccountable masses of shades and shadows, that at first you almost thought some ambitious young artist, in the time of the New England hags, had endeavored to delineate chaos bewitched. 

Panting and snorting like a mad battle steed that has lost its rider, the masterless ocean overruns the globe.

obstreperously.

I am madness maddened! That wild

The UN is all screams and twitters, like a ladies' room when a guy barges in. A

Gliding across an imaginary line that splits the Pacific Ocean from the north to the south polar caps, the sunrise acquired a new label, June 23. Behind that line, June 22 had just dawned. This murky international convention, amid world chaos, still stood. For the globe still turned as always in the light of the sun, ninety million miles away in black space, and the tiny dwellers on the globe still had to agree, as they went about their mutual butcheries, on a way to tell the time.

and they limp and halt, they're all wrinkled, drawn, they squint to the side, can't look you in the eyes, and always bent on duty, trudging after Ruin, maddening, blinding Ruin. But Ruin is strong and swift—She outstrips them all by far, stealing a march, leaping over the whole wide earth to bring mankind to grief.

Must you have battle in your heart forever? The bloody toil of combat? Old contender, will you not yield to the immortal gods? That nightmare cannot die, being eternal evil itself – horror, and pain, and chaos; there is no fighting her, no power can fight her. All that avails is flight.

they are making havoc of my estate

Writers seek to create order out of the chaos of everyday life, and to extract meaning from both the tragic and the mundane

And through this revolting graveyard of the universe the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods—the blind, voiceless, mindless gargoyles whose soul is Nyarlathotep.

And the New York Journal of Commerce, half-playfully, half-seriously, wrote: Let us go to war. The world has become stale and insipid, the ships ought all to be captured, and the cities battered down, and the world burned up, so that we can start again. There would be fun in that, Some interest, — something to talk about.