Quotes About Questioning

Question every assumption and go towards the problem, like the way they flew to the moon. We should have more moon shots and flights to the moon in areas of societal importance.

I have what's known as a 'spirited' child. Mia has run me ragged since she knew how to walk. She'd run across soccer fields as a toddler, never once looking back. I have learned how to navigate her strong nature while nurturing it as well. I raised her to think for herself. I raised her to question.

What I think is important for us as players is to always stay on our toes and be critical to everything being said.

That's not a real answer.' Says who?' Says me. I mean real fear, like of failure, of death, of regret. Like that. Something that keeps you awake nights, questioning your very existence.' Clowns.

You've been wondering lately when the moment is that somebody is truly lost to you.

in my small pocket of my own isolated country, I felt like I understood my world and myself, but now, I'm actually embracing not knowing and I'm questioning much of what I thought I did know. I kind of like being confused, wrestling with contradictions, and not having to wrap up issues in a minute before a commercial break.

I wish I could ask the future whether I should give up or keep trying.

I wish I could ask the future whether I should give up or keep trying. Then again, what if trying, even in the face of certain failure, feels as good as accomplishing? What if it's even better? And here we are again.

Oh dear," said my mother, turning to Marmie and going "Ce Justin, est-il gai?" (This Justin, is he gay?) Marmie handed her a hot chocolate and shrugged. "Qui sait? Je ne suis pas se petite amie." (Who knows? I'm not his girlfriend.)

They was told it too, perhaps. Does that make it true? Maybe. Maybe not.

I'm not so sure about him.

Irish poet David Whyte, pausing after a complex thought, or a hoary quandary, looking out to the room of devotees who flock to his workshops around the world, and asking, "But what is the more beautiful question?" And we are immediately reminded that there is always a more beautiful question that should be asked. I've heard David explain that asking the more beautiful question (invariably the courageous one) delivers us the answer we seek.

What the hell was an acquisitions consultant? An arms dealer? A white slave trader?

Readiness to answer all questions is the infallible sign of stupidity.

Some say it's no coincidence that the question mark is an inverted plow, breaking up the hard soil of old beliefs and preparing for the new growth.

She stared at me with that questioning look people often get when I open my mouth.

The problem with smart people is that they like to be right and sometimes will defend ideas to the death rather than admit they're wrong... Until they come face to face with someone who is tenacious enough to dissect their logic, and resilient enough to endure the thinly veiled intellectual abuse they dish out during debate, they're never forced to question their ability to defend bad ideas.

You're like a book I hate to read, a story I want to skip through to the end. You take my soul and blow me straight into hell. I'm high on wigged out poems, short shorts that don't stop. Am I dead? I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S REAL! What about you?

What I learned from Jeff (and his daughter) that day is the importance of constantly, maybe even obsessively, asking "why" in your business. I learned that when you start to question things, you wind up creating these "aha" moments, which combine a sense of wonder with the knowledge of how to get something done.

All I know is that I do not believe in anything anymore and that I must find something to believe in or I will cease to be.

I keep asking myself," whispered Sabetha, giving Locke's arm a squeeze, "ARE we smarter than that woman's chicken?" "At the moment, it's an open question," said Locke.

I don't believe you," said Conté. "I wouldn't fucking believe you if you told me my name was Conté. I wouldn't believe you if you told me fire was hot and water was wet.

There's a few things I want to ask him. Philosophical questions. Like, 'How does it feel to be dangled out a window by a rope tied around your balls, motherfucker?

So this is it. This is the Great Escape. Is it wrong for us to want this? I keep thinking, if there are so many worlds, who decided which one to put us on? No one asked us what we wanted. Don't we have the right to look for something more? We'll be back; we know we can't stay away forever. But just for a while...just for a while.