Quotes About Ambiguity

Why did I keep stressing what was and was not normal, when nothing about it was?

So now the girl whose life is a crystal teardrop has her own place, a place where the sun shines and the ambiguities can be set aside a little while longer, a place where everyone can be warm and loving and share confidences.

try to live in the now and keep my eye on the hummingbird. I see no one I used to know, but then I'm not just crazy about a lot of people. I mean maybe I was holding all the aces, but what was the game?

Maybe I was holding all the aces, but what was the game?

I suppose I am talking about just that: the ambiguity of belonging to a generation distrustful of political highs, the historical irrelevancy of growing up convinced that the heart of darkness lay not in some error of social organization but in man's own blood. If man was bound to err, then any social organization was bound to be in error.

Particularly out here tonight, in this country so ominous and terrible that to live in it is to live with antimatter, it is difficult to believe that "the good" is a knowable quantity.

I always had trouble distinguishing between what happened and what merely might have happened, but I remain unconvinced that the distinction, for my purposes, matters.

pobra canícula, també la seva glòria és incerta...

Yes, and the

You're really that good? he said at last. Loki shrugged. I'm Loki.

It's about a girl who is on the cusp of becoming someone.. A girl who may not know what she wants right now, and she may not know who she is right now, but who deserves the chance to find out.

Normal, in our house, is like a blanket too short for a bed--sometimes it covers you just fine, and other times it leaves you cold and shaking; and worst of all, you never know which of the two it's going to be.

Love was that way. You could not render it in black or white. It always came down to the strange, blended shades of grey.

Everytime I look at a zebra, I can't figure out whether it's black with white stripes or white with black stripes, and that frustrates me.

It's easy to say you will do what's right and shun what's wrong, but when you get close enough to any given situation, you realize that there is no black or white. There are gradations of gray.

Then Henry speaks again. Did he do it? I turn to him slowly. Does it matter?

We all want to know what went wrong, even when there isn't really an answer to that question.

We make messes of our lives, but every now and then, we manage to do something that's exactly right. The challenge is figuring out which is which.

So, what is my story? I don't know. It's long and twisted and not quite finished yet.

Someone asked me, what colour were those two years of living in Korea? I thought about it for a long time. There was no colour, I don't know what colour hard work is.

I had heard of offices feeling like prisons, but in this case our prison felt, rather anticlimactically, like an office.

Sometimes I'm confused by what I think is really obvious. But what I think is really obvious obviously isn't obvious...

Use to hate being misunderstood but finally I realize it's best to be misunderstood than understood.

My say nothing but do something way of doing things appears to be being misunderstood.