Quotes About Revelation

That name was Adeline March.

It was surprising how a man's mind might remain half in shadow until the right confidant appeared

then into a space where there seemed to be nothing but mist. When we came to a wall of yew twice as high as Aurelius himself, we followed it. I noticed a sparkling in the grass and on the leaves: The sun had come out. The moisture in the air began to evaporate and the circle of visibility grew wider by the minute. Our wall of yew had led us full circle around an empty space; we had arrived back at the same walkway we had entered by.

The beginning, perhaps. The girl without the mother. But after that . . . I wish someone could tell me what it means. I wish there was someone who could just tell me the truth.

Thomas Ambrose Proctor!

Memory is like a rope, knotted every three or four feet, and hanging down a deep well. When you pull it up, just about anything might be attached to those knots. But you'll never know what's there if you don't pull. And the more you pull at that rope, the more you find.

And I suspect that, to the eyes of love, love shows. I knew about you as well as about myself, almost from the beginning.

Of course, he sees creation as discovery. I mean, everything is already created, by the first cause---call it God if you like; everything is already there to be found.

The more things I threw away, the more I found.

There's always more to it. This is what history consists of. It is the sum total of the things they aren't telling us.

Sex finds us. Sex sees through us. That's why it's so shattering. It strips us of appearances.

We lead more interesting lives than we think. We are characters in plots, without the compression and numinous sheen. Our lives, examined carefully in all their affinities and links, abound with suggestive meaning, with themes and involute turnings we have not allowed ourselves to see completely.

He is just a running boy, a half-seen figure from the streets, but the way running reveals some clue to being, the way a runner bares himself to consciousness, this is how the dark-skinned kid seems to open to the world, how the bloodrush of a dozen strides brings him into eloquence.

Secrets are an exalted state, almost a dream state. They're a way of arresting motion, stopping the world so we can see ourselves in it.

Find someone to push him ever sunward. There's always something you're not supposed to see but it is a condition of growing up that you will see it.

You understand it's not a matter of strategy. I'm not talking about secrets or deceptions. I'm talking about being yourself. If you reveal everything, bare every feeling, ask for understanding, you lose something crucial to your sense of yourself. You need to know things the others don't know. It's what no one knows about you that allows you to know yourself.

It's the things we forget about that tell us who we are.

The whole country's going to puke blood when they read it.

She was shining a light on us, she was coming into being, endlessly being formed and reformed as the muscles in her face worked at smiling and speaking, as the electronic dots swarmed.

When a writer doesn't show his face, he becomes a local symptom of God's famous reluctance to appear.

Something lurked inside the truth.

El sexo nos descubre. El sexo nos revela como somos. Por eso es tan estremecedor. Nos despoja de toda apariencia.

When hell fills up, the dead will walk the streets.

Is cyberspace a thing within the world or is it the other way around? Which contains the other, and how can you tell for sure?