Quotes About Understanding

and in the end the logical thing would be to give up and I would give up if I were laboring for a reader today, but as there is in the world not a single human who can speak my language; or, more simply, not a single human who can speak; or, even more simply, not a single human; I must think only of myself, of that force which urges me to express myself. I repeat: there is something I know, there is something I know, there is something...

I feel I understand Existence, or at least a minute part Of my existence, only through my art

It is childish to study a work of fiction in order to gain information about a country or about a social class or about the author.

We are still groping perhaps, but we grope intelligently, like a gynecologist feeling a tumor.

there were times when I knew how you felt, and it was hell to know it...

Sana anlat?lan?n asl?nda üç aÅŸamal? olduÄŸunu unutma; önce anlatan taraf?ndan biçimlendiÄŸini, sonra dinleyen taraf?ndan yeniden biçimlendiÄŸini, öyküdeki ölmüÅŸ adam?n her ikisinden de saklad??? ÅŸeyler olduÄŸunu.

The worst madman is the one who fails to consider the possibility of somebody else being mad too.

He loved her in spite of her unlovableness. Armande had many trying, though not necessarily rare, traits, all of which he accepted as absurd clues in a clever puzzle.

The problem lies not with the characters within the novel, but with the reader itself.

As palavras sem a experiência não teriam qualquer significado.

My habit of being silent when displeased, or, more exactly, the cold and scaly quality of my displeased silence, used to frighten Valeria out of her wits. She used to whimper and wail, saying 'Ce qui me rend folle, c'est que je ne sais à quoi tu penses quand tu es comme ça.' I tried being silent with Charlotte – and she just chirped on, or chucked my silence under the chin. An astonishing woman!

Only experts, for experts, should probe a mind's misery.

Remember that what you are told is really threefold: shaped by the teller, reshaped by the listener, concealed from both by the dead man of the tale.

but as there is in the world not a single human who can speak my language;

How little I knew of his life! But now I was learning something every instant. The door standing slightly ajar was the best link imaginable.

The years are passing, my dear, and presently nobody will know what you and I know.

the name that the astute reader has guessed long ago

her husband had such a soothing capacity for showing how silent a man could be if he strictly avoided comments on the weather.

Mother, what's chtonic?" That, too, you'd explain, Appending: "Would you like a tangerine?" "No. Yes. And what does sempiternal mean?" You'd hesitate. And lustily I'd roar The answer from my desk through the closed door.

Remember that what you are told is really threefold: shaped by the teller, reshaped by the listener, concealed from both by the dead man in the tale.

do not know why I was so tormented by your betrayals, rather I myself know why, but I do not know the words I must choose to make you understand why I was so tormented. Such words do not come in the small size that fits your everyday needs.

I know something. I know something. But expression of it comes so hard !

Who can say what heartbreaks are caused in a dog by our discontinuing a romp

She groped for words. I supplied them mentally. (He broke my heart. You merely broke my life).