Quotes About Questioning

Cordelia shook her head helplessly. "You would. A vote. Right." She buried her face in her hands a moment, and sobbed a laugh. "Why?" she asked through her fingers.

There were moments bristling with deadness, when she looked out at her life and went, What? Or worse, feeling interrupted and tired, Wha—?

I wondered about the half-life of regret.

The thought balloon of my own breath said, How have I found myself here?

it seemed one could just say are you serious? for the rest of existence and it would never be unjustified and would always have to be answered and so would keep the conversation going

Luisa pointed up at the crucifix on the wall and asked, 'Do you believe in all that?' 'I would like to,' he replied, 'but it is too difficult.' She nodded in agreement and said, 'If the person hanging on it were a woman, then I would believe it.

How much can a man endure? How long could a man continue? These things I asked myself, for I am a questioning man, yet even as I asked the answers were there before me. If he be a man indeed, he must always go on, he must always endure. Death is an end to torture, to struggle, to suffering, but it is also an end to warmth, light, the beauty of a running horse, the smell of damp leaves, of gunpowder, the walk of a woman when she knows someone watches. . . these things, too, are gone.

the world has always needed is more heretics and less authority.

confused begging of some philosophical question

Who's Mary Bopkins? asked Mrs. Jewls. Was she famous? Why? asked Miss Zarves. Does your class only study famous people? Do you think famous people are more important than people who aren't famous?

Is your last name your first name backward? Zero asked. Stanley stared at him in amazement. Had he been working on that all night?

Pausing an instant on the threshold before she vanished from their sight, she looked backward, and fixing on Gerald the strange glance he remembered well, she said in her penetrating voice, Is not the last scene better than the first?

What are you?' he [Nanapush] said to Damien, who was deep in a meditation over his [chess] bishop's trajectory. 'A priest' said Father Damien 'A man priest or a woman priest?'... ...'I am a priest', she whispered, hoarsely, fierce. 'Why' said Nanapush kindly, as though Father Damien hadn't answered, to put the question to rest, 'are you pretending to be a man priest?

Between these two, where was the real self? It came to her that both Sister Cecilia and then Agnes were as heavily manufactured of gesture and pose as was Father Damien. And within this, what sifting of identity was she? What mote? What nothing?

Pierpont "will probably not think of asking us.

I don't know where I am.

He asks wether Christians eat gold. Ari, nispa. Qoritam mikhunku. Yes, they are saying. They do eat gold.

Why did the fire not consume me? Why is suffering so arbitrary? If God exists, He is surely cruel. He is the old and terrible God of Moses, the God of Abraham. But the most logical conclusion is that He does not exist at all.

It's clever, but is it art?

He is not Ikki to dig holes, nor Mao, the Peacock, that he should fly. He is not Mang the Bat, to hang in the branches. Little bamboos that creak together, tell me where he ran?

Wolf Pack, ye have cast me out too. The jungle is shut to me and the village gates are shut. Why?

nothin', or his edukashin which he niver got? You that think ye know things, answer me that. But I found no answer. I was wondering how long Ortheris, in the bank of the river, would hold out, and whether I should be forced to help him to desert, as I had given my word.

So then you ask her when her birthday is, and she says, "Hmm, I don't really remember being born

Although he claimed not to understand matters of human conscience, it was precisely his own conscience that led him to question the status quo, and which would cost