Quotes About Uncertainty

Adrift in an air of charged significance, doubt struck me: was it a real memory, had he really spoken those words to me, or was I dreaming?

and yet, whenever he started with the questions I froze stiff, as if I'd been pushed onstage in a play where I didn't know the lines.

But those sparkling blue shallows- so enticing at first glance- had not yet graded off into depths, so that sometimes I got the disconcerting sensation of wading around in knee-high waters hoping to step into a drop-off, a place deep enough to swim.

It's a big shift. I don't know quite how to explain it. Between wanting and not wanting, caring and not caring. Of course it's a lot more than that too. Shock and aura. Things are stronger and brighter and I feel on the edge of something inexpressible.

the world is much stranger than we know or can say. And I know how you think, or how you like to think, but maybe this is one instance where you can't boil down to pure 'good' or pure 'bad' like you always want to do—? Like, your two different piles? Bad over here, good over here? Maybe not quite so simple.

Sleeping or waking, the world was a slippery game: fluid stage sets, drift and echo, reflected light. And all of it sifting like salt between her numbed fingers.

Isn't everything worthwhile a gamble? Can't good come around sometimes through some strange back doors?

but now, with his subconscious mind knocked loose from its perch and flapping in the hollow corridors of his skull as erratically as a bat, there was no way to be sure of anything he might do.

What if—is more complicated than that? What if maybe opposite is true as well? Because, if bad can sometimes come from good actions—? where does it ever say, anywhere, that only bad can come from bad actions? Maybe sometimes—the wrong way is the right way? You can take the wrong path and it still comes out where you want to be? Or, spin it another way, sometimes you can do everything wrong and it still turns out to be right?

it wasn't that the future...seemed bad or frightening so much as incomprehensible, a blot of black ink on the horizon.

On the way to Francis's, a pregnant dog ran across the road in front of us. "That," said Henry, "is a very bad omen." But of what he wouldn't say.

What if one happens to be possessed of a heart that can't be trusted—

It seemed my whole life was composed of these disjointed fractions of time, hanging around in one public place and then another, as if I were waiting for trains that never came.

The world is much stranger than we know or can say.

Who's to say that gamblers don't really understand it better than anyone else? Isn't everything worthwhile a gamble? Can't good come around sometimes through some strange back doors?

The human mind, I take it, must have either comfort in the past or hope in the future," he continued, "otherwise it is in danger.

You can't let the uncertainty of tomorrow interfere with the joy of today,

I think I have something growing inside of me.

Blake Crouch, Chicago's deputy chief, and says, "I don't know." Crouch resembles a mole, with a long, sharp nose and tiny black eyes.

The mother cannot tell what her tender infant may grow up to be – tall or short, weak or strong, wise or foolish; he may be any of these things or not; it is all uncertain. But one thing the mother can say with certainty: he will have a corrupt and sinful heart.

Everything around us seems unscrewed, loosened, and out of joint. The fountains of the great deep appear to be breaking up. Ancient institutions are tottering and ready to fall. Social and religious systems are failing and crumbling away. Church and state both seem convulsed to their very foundations, and what the end of this convulsion may be no one can tell.

This old world will soon break into pieces! Don't you hear the tremblings of it?

The security that we show sometimes, is not so certain of its presence

Lord take pity on the Christian who doubts, on the unbeliever who would fain believe, on the galley slave of life who puts out to sea alone under a firmament no longer lit by the consoling beacon fires of the ancient hope