Quotes About Ambiguity

Explaining will get us nowhere.

I put on my best shirt because the painting looked so bad. Color bleeds, so make it work for you. Gravity pulls, so make it work for you. Rubbing your feet at night or clutching your stomach in the morning. It was illegible - no single line of sight, too many angles of approach, smoke in the distance. It made no sense. When you have nothing to say, set something on fire. A blurry landscape is useless.

So here we are again, words on a page, the voice that wants to be a hand, the bridge with no opposite side.

His hands, swinging curve-fingered at his sides, looked like they were molded of brown clay by a sculptor who thought big and liked veins. His hair was brown and dry and dead, blowing around his head like a poor toupee about to fly loose. His face was a chipped chunk of concrete, with eyes of flawed onyx. His mouth was a quick stroke, bloodless. His suit coat fluttered behind him, and his arms swung easily as he walked.

The philosopher king said, "Everything stinks sometimes. Some of it can't be explained.

They all blur together these days—the smell of manure and buttered popcorn, urine and cotton candy, hay and innocence. He wrings his hands again and then stands up. Bob hobbles over to the corner, goosebumps rippling across his flesh, and he begins to wash off the cloud of white, his costume of the day, the way he is able to meander through any festive occasion with hardly a worry—balloons in hand, a smile on his face, knots twisting in his gut, blood filling his shoes.

I'm sure it's probably a mistake to try and draw your own conclusions from the things you read in books. Who knows?

He couldn't even tell whether he was angry or contrite, whether it was forgiveness he wanted or the power to forgive.

He had won but he didn't feel like a winner.

I felt a strange fluttering sensation in my chest. Butterflies, cardiac arrest . . . it was hard to say what exactly.

What's going on?" I sat down on the bed and finished the last of the scone. "Bad things," she said mischievously. "You'll approve.

I'm just confused. I can't read your signals. One moment you're hot, the next you're cold. You tell me you want me, you tell me you don't. If you picked one, that'd be fine, but you keep making me think one thing and then you end up going in a completely different direction. Not just now—all the time.

I looked back and forth at them in amazement. I didn't know if I was witnessing a fight or foreplay. I wasn't thrilled about either option.

What...what are you doing?" "I won't know," he said with a grin. He took a step towards me. "But I'm pretty sure you were doing it too.

How do you say goodbye to someone who isn't exactly gone.

Estoy confundido. No consigo leer tus señales. Unas veces si, otras no. Dices que me quieres, pero dices que no quieres. Si te decidieras, sería fantástico, pero me estás haciendo pensar una cosa y, a continuación, al final acabas yendo en una dirección completamente diferente. No sólo ahora, todo el tiempo.

Nothing's ever as harmless as it seems.

That creates instability, too." "Or maybe

What's going to happen to us?

Most of my life has been spent not understanding, and I can assure you, it was not easy.

innovators and experimenters who are comfortable with ambiguity and prepared to learn.

Every place has unsolved crimes because people don't want to know.

There's no earthly way of knowing Which direction we are going There's no knowing where we're rowing Or which way the river's flowing Is it raining, is it snowing? Is a hurricane a-blowing? - uh! Not a speck of light is showing So the danger must be growing Are the fires of Hell a-glowing? Is the grisly reaper mowing? Yes! The danger must be growing For the rowers keep on rowing And they're certainly not showing Any signs that they are slowing! A-aa-aaa-aaaah!

But sometimes mysteries are more intriguing than explanations.