Quotes About Confusion

It was like hearing customs from an undiscoverd race: what men thought was unimaginable....She wondered if all human activity were like this, everything, every gesture, every comment colored faintly by gender. Each side continually astonished, confused by the other's misperceptions. p 133

Todo mundo diz que quer liberdade. É mentira. A liberdade traz muita confusão à cabeça. Melhores são as rotinas, que nos livram da maçada de ter de tomar decisões sobre o que fazer com a liberdade. Quem tem rotinas não precisa tomar decisões. A vida já está decidida.

I'm a misplaced American, but don't know where I was misplaced.

At one of the annual conventions of the American Society for Aesthetics much confusion arose when the Society for Anesthetics met at the same time in the same hotel.

Sometimes the person you're closest to is the one you understand the least. Sometimes, when you're that close, everything just blurs.

How can we be afraid of those we love? It was a question that puzzled me then, and puzzles me still.

One minute he was moving securely through time and space, in perfect coordination with other people; then, with no warning, he was out of step, was somehow removed from everyone else's sense of time and place, so that the slightest movement, word, facial expression or gesture contained enormous significance. The room filled with coded messages that he could not decode, and he slipped quickly into barely controlled hysteria.

Talking with this girl is like trying to catch fleas, you never know which way she was going to jump.

In this confusing state of affairs when each fact is immediately contrasted with a counter-fact and everyone is branded a liar, when the word truth can be used only in apology and within quotation marks, it seems that the only object that can claim total honesty is fiction itself.

When is a crisis reached? When questions arise that can't be answered.

There is a technical term for someone who confuses the opinions of a character in a book with those of the author. That term is idiot.

Dennis says) "Hey, you're playing confuse-the-unbeliever again. I have never been able to get a straight answer on whether you guys have two deities or dozens, taken from any pantheon you feel like mugging in a theological dark alley. Which is it? Number one or number two?" "Yes," Juniper said, with all the other coven members joining in to make a ragged chorus...

Fakat sarho? gibi olmu?tum. Bir yudum içmedi?im halde bütün etraf?m gözümden silinmi?ti. Ve ben bu kar???k, bu puslu ve dumanl? kalabal???n aras?nda yaln?z onu sarih, vaz?h ve ayd?nl?k olarak görüyordum.

sana yeni bir dünya açaca??m? sanm??t?n... seni sukutuhayale u?ratt?m. ben sana rehber de?il, ancak yolda? olabilirdim, fakat yolu ikimiz de bilmiyorduk ve birbirimize yük olmaktan, birbirimizi ?a??rtmaktan ba?ka bir ?ey elimizden gelmiyordu.

So, Byrne, did you and Christabel get lost on the way down? Perhaps we should send you a floor plan for next time. The drawing room is the one that doesn't have a bed.

I need to know—" he broke off, a vulnerable expression crossing his face. "That is, I want to know whom you intend to choose.

I feel quite lost INSIDE myself, like I'm looking for my train tracks for my life, as if they would just appear and solve the growing questions I seem to face (my reflection in the morning).

It is the discrepancy between the promise implicit in his touch and his daily interactions with her that generates so much confusion and ambivalence for Martha.--from Lo Siento

When you are in the middle of a story it isn't a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood; like a house in a whirlwind, or else a boat crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and all aboard powerless to stop it. It's only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all. When you are telling it, to yourself or to someone else.

In my dreams of this city I am always lost.

When you can't tell the difference between your own pleasure and your pain then you're an addict.

Even sex was no longer what it had once been, though he was still as addicted to it as ever. He felt jerked around by his own dick, as if the rest of him was merely an inconsequential knob that happened to be attached to one end of it. Maybe the thing would be happier if left to roam around on its own.

When you are in the middle of a story it isn't a story at all, but only a confusion;

From nowhere, a word appears: Mesozoic. He can see the word, he can hear the word, but he can't reach the word. He can't attach anything to it. This is happening too much lately, this dissolution of meaning, the entries on his cherished wordlists drifting off into space.