Quotes About Incomplete

We may not know the whole story in our lifetime.

It has the funny kind of incomplete, semiabstract reality that scripts or scores have—they are programs, as it were, for real things in the world (the produced play, the performed music) that require adding a context, and decisions about that context affect the whole of the abstract object.

This story is very simple, although it could have been very complicated. Also, it's incomplete, because stories like this don't have an ending.

Maybe stories and memories are destined to be incomplete...

To the extent that your love [of God] is fearful, your love is incomplete or immature. It is not made perfect. 1 John 4:17-18

half done, she left her establishment topsy-turvy

It just took so much effort to get anything done without machinery, particularly since nobody really knew how to do a lot of the necessary things by hand. There were descriptions in books, but they always turned out to be maddeningly incomplete and/or no substitute for the knowledge experience built into your muscles and nerves.

There's something horribly unfair about dying in the middle of a good story, before you have a chance to see how it all comes out. Of course, I suppose everyonealways dies in the middle of a good story, in a sense. Your own story. Or the story of your children. Or your grandchildren. Death is a raw deal for narrative junkies.

We've never managed, either one of us, to get all the way into life. We're hanging on to the outside for all we're worth, convinced we're going to fall off at the next bump.

A wife is like a children's movie; always under-appreciated and without either, life would be incomplete.

Among the tortures and devestations of life is this then - our friends are not able to finish their stories.

You feel like you know me, Cady, but you only know the me who comes here," he says. "It's--it's just not the whole picture. You don't know my bedroom with the window onto the airshaft, my mom's curry, the guys from school, the way we celebrate holidays.

The sadness of the incomplete, the sadness that is often Life, but should never be Art.

The hedge was a half-painted picture which would be finished in a few days.

The melody rose, unprofitably magical. It broke; it was resumed broken, not marching once from the cradle to the grave. The sadness of the incomplete—the sadness that is often Life, but should never be Art—throbbed in its disjected phrases, and made the nerves of the audience throb. Not thus had she played on the little draped piano at the Bertolini, and "Too much Schumann" was not the remark that Mr. Beebe had passed to himself when she returned.

For a month we had been, I suppose, the thickest thieves in all London, and yet our intimacy was curiously incomplete.

Unwritten thought is an incomplete thought.

I felt incomplete. I was always happy but I felt incomplete and that I needed to be pushing through.

And it occurs to me that some way back I began a sentence that I never finished...

I read recently that the problem with stereotypes isn't that they are inaccurate, but that they're incomplete. And this captures perfectly what I think about contemporary African literature. The problem isn't that it's inaccurate, it's that it's incomplete.

The first consideration I have on the subject of the senses is that I doubt that man is provided with all the natural senses.

There'd never been any closure. There hadn't even been good-byes.

That which is mended is but patched and can never be whole again.

With dozens of course offerings, UCLA's history department doesn't have a single course on the French Revolution, or even a course that would seem to cover Western Europe during that period. There are courses on European history in the fifteenth and nineteenth centuries, as well as from 1450 to 1660. And there's a Western Civilization class covering the period up to 1715. But if you want to know what was happening outside of the United States circa 1750 to 1800