Quotes About Paradox

How strange is this combination of proximity and separation. That ground—seconds away—thousands of miles away.

You know it's gone to hell, when the best rapper out there is a white guy and the best golfer is a black guy.

Two fundamental literary qualities: supernaturalism and irony.

I am the wound and the knife! I am the slap and the cheek! I am the limbs and the rack, And the victim and the executioner! I am the vampire of my own heart.

A woman is natural: that is to say, abominable.

I am the wound and the knife!I am the blow and the cheek!I am the limbs and the wheel—The victim and the executioner!

The beautiful is always bizarre.

Time is the most undefinable yet paradoxical of things; the past is gone, the future is not come, and the present becomes the past even while we attempt to define it, and, like the flash of lightning, at once exists and expires.

As no roads are so rough as those that have just been mended, so no sinners are so intolerant as those that have just turned saints.

It is not what we do that matters, but what a sovereign God chooses to do through us. God doesn't want our success; He wants us. He doesn't demand our achievements; He demands our obedience. The Kingdom of God is a kingdom of paradox, where through the ugly defeat of a cross, a holy God is utterly glorified. Victory comes through defeat; healing through brokenness; finding self through losing self.

The killer feels invulnerable. In this, he is vulnerable. (Le tueur se croit invulnérable. En cela, il est vulnérable)

Era el mejor de los tiempos, era el peor de los tiempos, la edad de la sabiduría, y también de la locura; la época de las creencias y de la incredulidad; la era de la luz y de las tinieblas; la primavera de la esperanza y el invierno de la desesperación. Todo lo poseíamos, pero no teníamos nada;

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

In this round world of many circles within circles, do we make a weary journey from the high grade to the low, to find at last that they lie close together, that the two extremes touch, and that our journey's end is but our starting-place?

I am unfortunate in using a word which may convey a meaning—and evidently does—quite opposite to my intention.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,

Mr. Tulkinghorn is always the same, speechless repository of noble confidences, so oddly out of place and yet so perfectly at home.

How could I, a poor dazed village lad, avoid that wonderful inconsistency into which the best and wisest of men fall every day?

was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of

Exactly what I myself had thought, many times. Exactly what was perfectly manifest to me at the moment. But how could I, a poor dazed village lad avoid that wonderful inconsistency into which the best and wisest of men fall everyday.

The key to this paradox lies within you, in the feeling you carry that each of your actions, even your personal, secret struggles, has cosmic significance. You will know then, as you know now, that everything you do matters.

It's like looking for a needle that no one ever lost in a haystack that never was—

As no roads are so rough as those that have just been mended, so no sinners are so intolerant as those that have just turned saints.

What a pity that we can not accomplish our salvation as easily as our damnation.