Quotes About Obscurity

I have an attraction to strangeand unusual things.I find them interesting, spellbinding, utterly fascinating.

the more lethal the risks, the less visible they will be, since the severely victimized are likely to be eliminated from the evidence. The

they may never become noticeable.

At last, after creeping as it were, for such a length of time along the utmost verge of the opaque puddle of obscurity, they had taken that downright plunge, which, sooner or later, is the destiny of all families, whether princely or plebian

The wet sidewalks gleam with a broad sheet of red light. The raindrops glitter as if the sky were pouring down rubies. The spouts gush with fire. Methinks the scene is an emblem of the deceptive glare which mortals throw around their footsteps in the moral world, thus bedazzling themselves till they forget the impenetrable obscurity that hems them in, and that can be dispelled only by radiance from above.

That which hides in plain sight is the most difficult thing to find.

He's become like that briefcase in the ground—full of gems yet void of light, so nothing sparkles, nothing shines.

Morrison suspected he had no idea how many people worked behind the scenes of his "simple" life, because they always scurried like mice when they saw him coming. To the Toll, a fortress manned by dozens upon dozens of people appeared to be mostly deserted.

W)hen you cover up strange things, they never go away completely, do they?

He began to feel like a ghost in his own life, existing in a forced blind spot of the world.

I see a bright portion under the overhead light that shades into darkness and then into darker darkness and I can't see beyond that.

You're the most unknown famous man I ever met

God, I thought, what about the writer? The writer was the blood and bones and brains (or lack of same) in these creatures. The writer made their hearts beat, gave them words to speak, made them live or die, anything he wanted. And where was the writer? Who ever photographed the writer? Who applauded? But just as well and damn sure just as well: the writer was where he belonged: in some dark corner, watching.

where it's not unusual for certain senior personnel to keep such a low profile that only the payroll computers in HR can remember their names.

But otherwise it's darkness, darkness, as far as the eye can see.

When one considers the multitude of unsung of every race, ethnicity, gender, perhaps toiling away in obscurity, their work thrown out after their deaths by philistine relatives and vulgarian landlords, one must weep. And one does.

But knowing or not knowing does not save us from being known

We were alone. Where, I could not say, hardly imagine. All was black, and such a dense black that, after some minutes, my eyes had not been able to discern even the faintest glimmer.

I just miss - I miss being anonymous.

It's weird... I've been an actor for a long time and you can walk around more or less anonymously.

What you have to accept at the outset is this: many men have died like Robert Ross, obscured by violence. Lawrence was hurled against a wall—Scott entombed in ice and wind—Mallory blasted on the face of Everest. Lost. We're told Euripides was killed by dogs—and this is all we know. The flesh was torn and scattered—eaten. Ross was consumed by fire. These are like statements: 'pay attention!' People can only be found in what they do.

just a dark shape against an even darker background.

the greatest men that ever live pass away unknown. they put forth no claims for themselves, establish no schools of systems in their name. they never create or stir but just melt down into love

I didn't even know his name. And if I didn't know his name then there is nothing I did know and I have known nothing ever at all since the one thing I wanted was to know his name so how could he help but leave me since he was making love to a woman who didn't even know his name.