Quotes About Confusion

On the night of September the 7th the BBC received the signal for 'Invasion Imminent' from the C in C Home Forces, who now had priority over the Ministry of Information. This signal was followed by another: 'No bells to ring till advise.' By an understandable confusion, however, there were church bells which did start ringing in scattered parishes all over the country. Not one was recorded.

He realised that he was probably unwell in some way, but it did not seem to be a state of ill health about which anything could be done; you could not go to the doctor and say that you didn't know what season it was.

The blizzard of baffling and confusing instructions and information that falls upon every child everywhere assumes a Carrollian texture.

When I was her age, thought Pauline, the options were confusing. They always are. Who'd be young? Everything wide open, which means that the not chosen is discarded. Junked.

Is that my ears ringing, or am I screaming? I am burning and I am blind and I can't find the stairs and I do not know how to get out of Madham.

I don't even know what the word strange means anymore... that's really strange.

I used to think I knew all the answers. Then I thought I knew maybe a few of the answers. Now I'm not even sure I understand the questions. Nobody knows anything.

Well, there are times when we know where people are, yes? This would not be one of those times.

I'm not supposed to be here, Xy.

Management by drive, like management by 'bellows and meat ax,' is a sure sign of confusion. It is an admission of incompetence. It is a sign that management does not know how to plan. But, above all, it is a sign that the company does not know what to expect of its managers – that, not knowing how to direct them, it misdirects them.

I no longer understand anything literally. I cannot wait until I wake up, whereas earlier I could not wait to fall asleep. I have been made to speak. I have been sentenced to reality. - Do you hear it? (Silence.) Can you hear? (Silence.) Psst. (Silence.)

A bad dream. You were having a bad dream. Oh, I say. Is that what I'm having?

angelism, confusing man with an angel by denying his likeness to animals, and animalism, confusing man with an animal by denying his likeness to angels.

Byron had to blink a dozen times, each time hoping the dream would end. But the unreal was real.

Professor Bhegad gasped. "Massa treachery . . . Torquin's driving . . . not sure which is worse.

I DON'T THINK so." I blinked upward into Cass's face. His hair was haloed by a fluorescent ceiling light. I was in a glaringly bright room with puke-green walls and a tiled floor. My arm was attached to an IV stand, and by the wall was a wheeled table with beeping medical machines. "Huh?" I said. "You called me Mom. I said, 'I don't think so.'" "Sorry," I said. "The Dream.

What just happened?" Amy said. "We were in a ninja fight," Dan said in amazement. "For the first time in my nonvirtual life. And I hated it.

about Barber and Kelly? Banks couldn't tell. And if he

I can't say I understand any of it, myself,' said Banks. 'Me, neither,' said Gerry.

Let's step back from this debate and consider how it affects the question we are currently investigating, the role of war in the rise of archaic states. While there is confusion resulting from competing definitions, and a great degree of controversy about evidence and how to interpret it, all parties agree on one thing: warfare was particularly vicious among pre-state farming societies.

Each of us assumes everyone else knows what HE is doing. They all assume we know what WE are doing. We don't...Nothing is going on and nobody knows what it is. Nobody is concealing anything except the fact that he does not understand anything anymore and wishes he could go home.

We're blind moles. Creeping through the soil, feeling with our snoots. We know nothing. I perceived this . . . now I don't know where to go. Screech with fear, only. Run away.

Parcifal is one of those corkscrew artifact of culture in which you get the subjective sense that you've learned something from it, something valuable or even priceless; but on closer inspection you suddenly begin to scratch your head and say Wait a minute. This makes no sense.

It is not hubris, not pride; it is inflation of the ego to its ultimate – confusion between him who worships and that which is worshipped. Man has not eaten God; God has eaten man.