Quotes About Human

I see the mountains in the sky; the great clouds; and the moon; I have a great and astonishing sense of something there, which is "it"—it is not exactly beauty that I mean. It is that the thing is in itself enough: satisfactory, achieved. A sense of my own strangeness, walking on the earth is there too: of the infinite oddity of the human position; with the moon up there and those mountain clouds.

the value of education is among the greatest of all human values...

And indeed, it cannot be denied that the most successful practitioners of life, often unknown people by the way, somehow contrive to synchronize the sixty or seventy different times which beat simultaneously in every normal human system, so that when eleven strikes, all the rest chime in unison, and the present is neither a violent disruption nor completely forgotten in the past.

Love. Hate. Peace. Three emotion made the ply of human life.

She had done the usual trick - been nice. She would never know him. He would never know her. Human relations were all like that, she thought, and the worst were between men and women. Inevitably these were extremely insincere.

Once you fall, Septimus repeated to himself, human nature is on you.

For if there are (at a venture) seventy-six different times all ticking in the mind at once, how many different people are there not – Heaven help us – all having lodgment at one time or another in the human spirit?

He was afraid he did not understand beauty apart form human beings.

I'm so odd, and I'm so limited, and I'm so different from the ordinary human being—so you say. I have a strong suspicion that I'm the simplest of you all, and that it's my extreme transparency that baffles you. I dont think I ever feel anything but the most ordinary emotions.

Como uma nuvem que atravessa o sol, o silêncio caiu sobre Londres, e caiu sobre o espírito. Todo esforço é findo. Pende o tempo, do mastro. Rígido, somente o esqueleto do hábito sustenta a forma humana. E onde não há nada, disse Peter Walsh a si mesmo; o sentimento escava-se, ôco, completamente ôco. Clarissa recusou-me, pensou. E ali ficou parado, a pensar: Clarissa recusou-me.

In all the books love is one of the great facts that mould human life. But it is a catastrophe: it happens suddenly and overwhelmingly, and there is little to be said about it.

Really I don't like human nature unless all candied over with art.

listen not to the bark of the guns and the bray of the gramophones but to the voices of the poets, answering each other, assuring us of a unity that rubs out divisions as if they were chalk marks only; to discuss with you the capacity of the human spirit to overflow boundaries and make unity out of multiplicity.

there is no end to the pathetic devices of the human imagination - over other people

Woolf was breaking new ground in the way she rendered consciousness and her understanding of human subjectivity.

Those ruffians, the Gods, shan't have it all their own way, - her notion being that the Gods, who never lost a chance of hurting, thwarting and spoiling human lives were seriously put out if, all the same, you behaved like a lady.

Non c'era nessuno che lei rispettasse e venerasse come rispettava e venerava lui. Era prontissima a fidarsi di quel che diceva lui, rispose. […] andavano da lei, spontaneamente, perché lei era una donna, tutto il giorno, con questa o quella richiesta; uno voleva una cosa, un altro un'altra; i ragazzi crescevano; a volte le sembrava di non essere altro che una spugna imbevuta di emozioni umane.

All this pitting of sex against sex . . . all this claiming of superiority and imparting of inferiority, belong to the private-school stage of human existence where there are 'sides,' and it is . . . of the utmost importance to walk up to a platform and receive from the hands of the Headmaster himself a highly ornamental pot.

New York isn't jobs, they reply, it's temperament. Most people are in New York because they need evidence—in large quantities—of human expressiveness; and they need it not now and then, but every day. That is what they need. Those who go off to the manageable cities can do without; those who come to New York cannot.

for the human brain can become the best torture house of all those it has invented, established and used in a millions of years, in millions of lands, on millions of howling creatures.

If I correctly understand the sense of this succinct observation, our poet suggests here that human life is but a series of footnotes to a vast obscure unfinished masterpiece.

How small the cosmos (a kangaroo's pouch would hold it), how paltry and puny in comparison to human consciousness, to a single individual recollection, and its expression in words!

I clearly understand, first, that the real human being is a poet and, second, that [the tyrant] is the incarnate negation of a poet.

at the peak of this human agonised, selfless tenderness (with my soul actually hanging around her naked body and ready to repent), all at once, ironically, horribly, lust would swell again - and "oh no," Lolita would say with a sigh to heaven, and the next moment the tenderness and the azure - all would be shattered