Quotes About Ambiguity

When is a crisis reached? When questions arise that can't be answered.

Power has been called many things. The ultimate aphrodisiac. An absolute corrupter. A mistress. A violin. But its true nature remains elusive. After all, a head of state wields a very different sort of power than

I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations—one can do either this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it—you will regret both.

He had only one eye. How he had lost the other one I have never known.

Women are terrifying. One second all is fine and well, and the next, everyone is left wondering if they are the ones with the demon in them.

Incierto es, en verdad, lo porvenir. ¿Quién sabe lo que va a pasar? Pero incierto es también lo pretérito, ¿quién sabe lo que ha pasado? ANTONIO MACHADO Juan de Mairena

Given all of life's ambiguities and the reality of impermanence and suffering, our existence is remarkable, wondrous. It evokes awe and amazement. We need to pay attention. Really pay attention. Lest we become blind to the awe and wonder that fills our days.

En política sólo puedes estar seguro de una cosa, de que jamás puedes estar seguro de nada

Hatred would have been easier. With hatred, I would have known what to do. Hatred is clear, metallic, one-handed, unwavering; unlike love.

It's impossible to say a thing exactly the way it was, because of what you say can never be exact, you always have to leave something out, there are too many parts, sides, crosscurrents, nuances; too many gestures, which could mean this or that, too many shapes which can never be fully described, too many flavors, in the air or on the tongue, half-colors, too many.

Women are hard to keep track of, most of them. They slip into other names, and sink without a trace.

It isn't the sort of thing you ask questions about, because the answers are not usually answers you want to know.

The only sure camouflage was unpredictability.

Religious people of any serious kind made her nervous: they were like men in raincoats who might or might not be flashers.

The past is a great darkness, and filled with echos. Voices may reach us from it; but what they say to us is imbued with the obscurity of the matrix out of which they come; and, try as we may, we cannot always decipher them precisely in the clearer light of our own day.

From this distance it does resemble fun. Fun is not knowing how it will end.

It was a question now, rather than a statement; a question with no answer.

This could be the last time I have to wait. But I don't know what I'm waiting for. What are you waiting for? they used to say. That meant Hurry up. No answer was expected. For what are you waiting is a different question, and I have no answer for that one either.

If I'd been older I would've asked what it was right away, but I didn't because I wanted to postpone the moment when I would know what it was. In stories I'd read, I'd come across the words nameless dread. They'd just been words then, but now that's exactly what I felt.

Which way will the cat jump?

Nobody nowhere knows what time it is.

The world was no longer solid and dependable, it was porous and deceptive. Anything could disappear. At the same time, everything I looked at was very clear. It was like one of those surrealist paintings we'd studied in school the year before. Melted clocks in the desert, solid but unreal.

And so I step up, into the darkness within; or else the light.

Was every Heathcliff a Linton in disguise?