Quotes About Understanding

No sense in looking for our differences when I had just met him.

I saw my face in your own. It was strange. I wanted to know you better.

There were obviously missing pieces to the puzzle, but I felt as if they were minor, as if the smallest bit of new information and the slightest jiggling of the pattern would suddenly cause everything to fall into place, with the emerging picture to be something I should have seen all along.

I think he knows exactly what he is doing, and whether we like it or not, I think he is the only one who can deal with the present situation.

I'll bare the basics, bridle the beast Unreason, and wrest from murky mystery the pearl of sweetest sense.

I am not unmindful of your thought processes as you speak. I feel the pain in your side, twin to my own. Yes, I know these things and more.

Simple curiosity, more than suspicion even, required that I search these faces for reactions, clues, indications-the faces that I knew better than any others, to the limits of my understanding such things. And of course they told me nothing.

Curious, he thought, how, if you knew a person long enough, he could elicit every kind of emotion from you, every possible reaction, envy, admiration, pity, irritation, fury, fondness, jealousy, love, disgust. But in the end all human beings became candidates for compassion, all of us, without exception...and if we could recognize this from the beginning, what a saving in pain and grief and misery.

Deeply moved, she poured the tea while they were finishing up. They came into the kitchen to replace the cleaning things, and she handed two cups to Om. Noticing the red rose borders, he started to point out her error, The pink one's for us, then stopped. Her face told him she was aware of it. What? she asked, taking the pink cup for herself, Is something wrong? Nothing, his voice caught . He turned away, hoping she did not see the film of water glaze his eyes.

He placed his hand over his heart. In here, there is limitless room - happiness, kindness, sorrow, anger, friendship - everything fits in here.

He wanted his noises to touch the others; friendly noises could melt hostility.

One day you must tell me your full and complete story, unabridged and unexpurgated. You must. We will set aside some time for it, and meet. It's very important. Maneck smiled. Why is it important? Mr. Valmik's eyes grew wide. You don't know? It's extremely important because it helps to remind yourself of who you are. Then you can go forward, without fear of losing yourself in this ever-changing world.

But that was always the case – people hardly ever saw their children as they really were.

The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.'" "That's lovely," said Roxana. "Shakespeare?" "Pascal.

Sometimes, I love to fight with you… Because, we end up loving each other more.

Holding on to a relationship is like holding sand in your hand! The more tightly you try to grip it, the more quickly it vanishes and more freely you hold it, the longer it stays! So, Relationship = How you hold it?

I can't get to know you means I shall never know what you really think of me. I cannot decipher you because I do not know how you decipher me.

To see someone who does not see is the best way to be intensely aware of what he does not see.

It is not true that the more you love, the better you understand; all that the action of love obtains from me is merely this wisdom: that the other is not to be known; his opacity is not the screen around a secret, but. instead, a kind of evidence in which the game of reality and appearance' is done away with. I am then seized with that exaltation of loving someone unknown, someone who will re- main so forever: a mystic impulse: I know what I do not know.

If I had to create a god, I would lend him a "slow understanding": a kind of drip-by-drip understanding of problems. People who understand quickly frighten me.

To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive and impoverished.

Man does not exist prior to language, either as a species or as an individual. We never encounter a state where man is separated from language, which he then elaborates in order to 'express' what is happening to him: it is language which teaches the definition of man, not the contrary.

Le langage est une peau: je frotte mon langage contre l'autre.

If I like a photograph, if it disturbs me, I linger over it. What am I doing, during the whole times I remain with it? I look at it, I scrutinize it, as if I wanted to know more about the thing or the person it represents... I want to outline the loved face by thought, to make it into the unique field of an intense observation; I want to enlarge this face in order to see it better, to understand it better, to know its truth.