Quotes About Ambiguity

I scuttled across the screen like Prufrock's crab. I was very clearly the one who was going to grow up to be a serial killer, or to keep dozens and dozens of cats. Instead, I got funny.

What I know I wish I didn't. What I'd give anything to know, I have to wait and see.

not everything comes with an easy answer, or without a price.

The truth is, I hate not being the first person narrator all the way through! To paraphrase David Copperfield, I don't know whether I'm the hero or the victim of this tale. But either way, shouldn't I dominate it?

And do stop trying to determine if I am a man or a woman. The fact is I'm a good part both and therefore neither one. I was just explaining to your Aunt Queen. I was born endowed with the finest traits of both sexes and I drift this way and that as I choose.

I don't know how to be bad at being bad.

Deidre called it twilight. Rita had seen the word written out, all right, but she'd never heard anyone really say it. Twilight.

He sat relaxed, one knee up, arms folded, face clear one moment in a flash of flame and pale the next. He was soiled all over, and seemed rather limp and in a strange misery of ease. His expression was neither bitter nor sarcastic, only thoughtful-fixed with an enduring expression just as the faces on the mosaics were fixed as they bore lifeless witness to the same events.

And we must live with the knowledge that there is no knowledge.

I can't tell you exactly," said the vampire. "I can tell you about it, enclose it with words that will make the value of it to me evident to you. But I can't tell you exactly, any more than I could tell you exactly

Her words were lulling me and making me believe that I was not miserable, but where would this path lead?

When you call on les mystéres you don't always know what you're going to get.

I had sparked something in him. I could see it in his black eyes. He was drawn to me, drawn to my world, but he couldn't admit it.

Either she was admirably at ease anywhere or she suffered from a total lack of discrimination; Liam couldn't decide which.

She has. No. Plan.

See... what it was, I guess: it was the grayness; grayness of things; half-right-and-half-wrongness of things. Everything tangled, mingled, not perfect any more. I couldn't take that. Your mother could, but not me. Yes sir, I have to hand it to your mother.

Nice concept. But is it a trilogy or a tweet? I can't tell any more.

MOST THINGS DON'T HAPPEN

life is problematic, so novels must be too.

A bit of the vagueness of music stops you going completely mad, I imagine.

The more I heard, the less I knew.

complication …. In that particular foggy business, I couldn't at this moment make out the wood for the trees, but one thing seemed fairly certain: this was

Beware the treachery of words, Mrs Sparrow. They mean one thing to one person and the opposite to another.

Art has no right answer. The best we can hope for is an interesting answer.