Quotes About Confusion

Sometimes you meet a really nice guy, but no matter how you try, you can't seem to make yourself want him. But that's not nearly as bad as when you meet the wrong guy, and you can't make yourself not want him. You feel hollow inside, just waiting and wishing and dreaming. You feel like every moment is leading to something so amazing that there's no name for it, and if you could just get there with him, it would be such a...relief. It would be all you'd ever need.

What did you do with memories, feelings, needs, that didn't belong anywhere?

I think vampires are different from human beings, but they're sentenced to eternity on this planet. They have the same confusion about love and permanence, integrity, and denial. These qualities really are the same in vampire characters as in humans. I think they're universal themes.

When I first heard the song 'Eruption,' which is Eddie Van Halen's most famous solo composition, I was confused because it sounded incredible, but I didn't know what it was. I didn't know if it was a guitar. I didn't know if it was a synthesizer or a keyboard. I couldn't figure it out.

I had a variety of minds about me and all of them unsettled.

Is not the whole world a vast house of assignation of which the filing system has been lost?

The thing with gymnastics is people don't always know the events. So they'll ask me about the rings, and I'll have to say, 'Women don't do that.' Or they'll use the wrong words, like horse instead of vault. They get confused.

Human beings make use of torture when they get chaotic and confused. And Americans certainly got chaotic, vengeful and confused after the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks.

I've asked these guys in rock bands with all the 18-wheelers driving to the venue how they make money. I just don't understand it. But I don't understand a lot of things.

I am not at all clear what free verse is anymore. That's one of the things you learn not to know.

It is the reflection of my face. Often in these lost days I study it. I can understand nothing of this face. The faces of others have some sense, some direction. Not Mine.

I couldn't understand why I was in Indo-China. What was I doing there? Why was I talking to these people? Why was I dressed so oddly? My passion was dead. For years it had rolled over and submerged me; now I felt empty.

Once you start seeing this place for the madhouse it is, you can't stop seeing it that way. It's everywhere, everyone. It doesn't make any sense. That's not life. It can't be. I don't know what it is, but it's not life.

I don't know if you have noticed this, but it is quite possible for two human beings to have a conversation in which one or both parties involved has absolutely no idea what they're talking about.

What, in all very seriousness, the hell was going on?

She looked up and ran her eyes over me, slowly, while I stood and wondered why. Had she forgotten what I looked like? But she finished with a big smile. She really did like me, the idiot.

Vince had answered the door in a body-hugging satin gown with a basket of fruit on his head. "J. Edgar Hoover?" I asked him.

I knew I was supposed to understand that Rita was actually saying something very specific, that her pauses and stutters added up to a great and marvelous thing that a human male would intuitively grasp. But I had not a single clue as to what it might be, nor how to figure it out. Should I count the breaths? Time the pauses and convert the numbers to Bible verses to arrive at the secret code? What was she trying to tell me? And why, for that matter, was she trying to tell me anything at all?

I felt as though someone had snuck in and packed my head with beach sand, even including the bottle caps and cigarette butts.

Deborah looked at me with a frown, and I frowned back. What Alana said made sense, of course, especially to someone untroubled by human feelings, like I used to be. It was clinically cold reasoning, serpentine but clear, and that certainly fit what we were coming to know about Alana. And yet—something was wrong with it, whether it was the way she said it or something else, I couldn't say; it didn't quite add up for me.

Every now and then we find ourselves living through moments that make no sense at all. It's almost as if some omnipotent film editor has snipped us out of our familiar everyday movie and spliced us into something completely random, from a different time and genre and even from a foreign country and partially animated, because suddenly you look around you and the language is unknown and nothing that happens has any relationship to what you think of as reality. This

Cody sat and looked around him as if the world had gone mad and exploded into a hideous caterwauling din, and he was the only one left with a clear head and a sense of decency.

How could I be thinking such absurdities?

I stepped toward the car, trying to plan what to do, which was impossible because I did not know what they wanted, or even who they were. It was no longer believable that it was merely a random crazy—not if he knew where I lived. But who was it? Who had any reason to act like this? Among the living, I mean, because there were plenty of former victims who might have loved to come after me, but they were all far beyond any sort of action at all, other than decomposition. I