Quotes About Contemplation

And there are times when I lie on my back in some quiet place and look up and up and up into the heavens as the stars gradually emerge from the fading of day's light. And I see myself, a tiny speck of consciousness in the enormity of the universe.

It was probably middle-aged of me, to understand that sometimes there is nothing of any use to say.

For me God was something within that allowed me, occasionally, to see.

During these long periods of solitary contemplation in a setting of such dramatically haunting beauty, I found myself overcome by waves of loneliness.

usual. She walked to the couch and sat down, her eyes closed once again. She spoke rather slowly. The following is my reconstruction of the brief and somewhat enigmatic session.) There is no necessity for taking notes. There is something here that you

Both the bride and the groom have the privilege of at least fifteen minutes in which to contemplate what a sick, sick, fucking, Christ-awful thing getting married is. That's what the book says — or words to that effect.

Hmmph, said Mrs. Walker, or rather, without speaking, she launched this hmmph into the air of the room and allowed it to float there.

Some days they would talk all morning about exactly how warm Heaven might be. It could not be warm enough so that souls went naked, or could it? If souls went naked, then why all the weaving, and if there was no weaving then how did souls occupy themselves?

hands behind his head. He took another deep breath. The whore

There were no toys under the bed--that wasn't why he liked it. Why he liked it was that there wasn't anything under the bed--no chickens, no Joey, no Eloise, no sheep, no nos. He could lie under the bed and not be told anything at all.

dark, wet sides of the well dropped maybe

He had accepted that if you were a bookish person the events in your life took place in your head.

The hard bed, the stool beside it, the stark cross on the wall, each cast shadows. Only the man in the bed seemed shadowless. He was the stillest thing in the room.

When are you going to start saying nothing?

She's never where she is,' I said. 'She's only inside her head.

She sat in her chair, eyes closed. She liked to be the last one to leave. She despised crowds, and their opinions as they left a performance, or worse, discussed the wait for the bathroom or where do you want to eat. It spoiled her mood. She was still in that other world, she would stay there as long as she possibly could, the parallel channels twining and tunneling through her cortex like coral.

I would rather live out on the desert alone, like an old prospector. All I needed was a small water source. What was the point in such loneliness among people. At least if you were by yourself, you had a good reason to be lonely.

The word rattled in my head like rocks in an oatmeal box.

I don't like to talk about things unless I have to. I don't like to talk a scene to death or overanalyze it, especially if I feel like I have some way in on my own.

Perhaps Obama is often slow to nail controversies because he needs time to live inside them for a while in his head. It's unnerving for the rest of us, but even the haters, one feels, are made to think more deeply than they'd like before they return to the bickering and the games.

The more I try to unravel the mysteries of the world in which we live, the more I come to the conception of a single overruling power - God.

One of the most unsettling things about 'Monologue' is its long silences, in which the man sits alone, staring into the middle distance, without grip of his narrative, lost to the past.

It is not altogether shyness that now makes me unsuccessful in company. Sometimes it is a state of mind that is three parts meditation, that will not free the thoughts until their attendant trains are prepared to follow them.

I discuss my scripts and things I'm unsure of before I take any decision.