Quotes About Understanding

But, you see, if being an intellectual means you like to learn, that you're curious and attentive and can admire things and be moved by them and try to understand how it all hangs together, and try to go to bed a bit less stupid than the day before, well, then yes: not only am I an intellectual but I'm proud to be one. Really proud, even.

si être intello ça veut dire aimer s'instruire, être curieux, attentif, admirer, s'émouvoir, essayer de comprendre comment tout ça tient debout et tenter de se coucher un peu moins con que la veille, alors oui, je le revendique totalement : non seulement je suis une intello, mais en plus je suis fière de l'être... Vachement fière, même...

Ce qui empêche les gens de vivre ensemble, c'est leur connerie, pas leurs différences . [Ensemble, c'est tout]

Ce qui empêche les gens de vivre ensemble, c'est leur connerie, pas leurs différences...

I have six sisters..." "So?" "So let me tell you, it is the simplest thing in the world: give in. What woman wants, God wants.

Es nesapratu šo v?rieti, kurš sevi iegrožoja un apspieda j?tas. Neko neizr?d?t aiz bail?m sajusties v?jam, nekad neesmu sp?jusi to saprast. Man?s m?j?s cilv?ki pieskaras viens otram un sask?pst?s t?pat k? elpo.

La main, c'est bien. Ça n'engage pas trop celui qui la donne et ça apaise beaucoup celui qui la reçoit...

M?s vienm?r run?jam par to b?d?m, kuri paliek, bet vai tu jau esi padom?jusi par tiem, kuri aiziet? Par to b?d?m, ar kuriem nelaime atn?k… Palic?ju mums ir ž?l, m?s vi?us mierin?m, bet tos, kuri aiziet? -Bet ko v?l vi?i grib, - es aizsvilos, - kroni? Iedrošinošus v?rdus?!

Ils se donnèrent la main en remontant à la surface. La main, c'est bien. Ça n'engage pas trop celui qui la donne et ça apaise beaucoup celui qui la reçoit...

Perhaps it's because it's incredible to meet someone and say: with this person, I'm happy.

Lo que impide que la gente conviva no es la diferencia, sino la estupidez

We are prone to ignore or to condemn that which we do not clearly understand;

gentry could love one another just as ordinary people

moment as the two men's gazes met, neither attempting

continue, stared down at her feet. Her companion's

you how to make

I write in order to comprehend, not to express myself.

I've learned to value failed conversations, missed connections, confusions. What remains is what's unsaid, what's underneath. Understanding on another level of being.

There is, I believe, a kind of telepathy between the condemned: a sort of intuitive recognition which can even make itself felt through the medium of the printed page. How else should I feel—without fear of appearing presumptuous, either—for this great man whom I never saw and to whom I could not have spoken, the tender, wincing, pathetic solicitude that painfully comes into being only between fellow-sufferers?

For the first time in her life she could talk openly of the things which interested her and were important to her. She had a great need of speech, of putting her thoughts into words; otherwise her thoughts seemed to escape her, flying about her brain in a wild confusion. It needed the power of words to put them in their places. And Rachel was full of understanding, using her sensitiveness to fan the thoughts of Anna towards coherency.

Grief is a private, internal thing. No one can say their pain is worse than yours because they don't know. So maybe it's not good to compare. Maybe it's better to talk to people who know you.

But the important thing about learning to wait, I feel sure, is to know what you are waiting for.

In the family sandwich, the older people and the younger ones can recognize one another as the bread. Those in the middle are, for a time, the meat.

The great motherhood friendships are the ones in which two women can admit [how difficult mothering is] quietly to each other, over cups of tea at a table sticky with spilled apple juice and littered with markers without tops.