Quotes About World

It is when people do not allow God to show up through them, she realized, that the world collapses in on itself.

what our stories are about matters, not just for us but for the world.

Es verdad lo que Steven Pressfield dice: hay una fuerza que se opone a lo bello que hay en el mundo y muchísimos nos estamos rindiendo. Robert McKee afirma al final de su libro que el mundo necesita que seamos valientes. El mundo requiere que escribamos algo mejor.

the human brain, no matter what region of the world it comes from, is drawn toward clarity and away from confusion.

Why? Because the human brain, no matter what region of the world it comes from, is drawn toward clarity and away from confusion.

It's the outsiders who change the world.

Angels' assignments may be "very grand and have significance for the whole world," but more often, their assignments are private and personal

Before the first plugs, an early version of the virtual world existed. People carried around handheld devices that allowed them to access it.

Detach language from meaning, and the world was yours.

his own world lived in constant discovery of its own ignorance.

They too, knew this beautiful and harrowing landscape; they'd had the same experience of looking up from their books with fifth-century eyes and finding the world disconcertingly sluggish and alien, as if it were not their home.

It's not about outward appearances but inward significance. A grandeur in the world, but not of the world, a grandeur that the world doesn't understand. That first glimpse of pure otherness, in whose presence you bloom out and out and out. A self one does not want. A heart one cannot help.

She was the golden thread running through everything, a lens that magnified beauty so that the whole world stood transfigured in relation to her, and her alone.

That surge of power and delight, of confidence, of control. That sudden sense of the richness of the world. Its infinite possibility.

it was reassuring to know that far away, whales swam untroubled in Baltic waters and monks in arcane time zones chanted ceaselessly for the salvation of the world.

Who knew, or cared, the names of the Turks who blew the roof off the Parthenon? the mullahs who had ordered the destruction of the Buddhas at Bamiyan? Yet living or dead: their acts stood. It was the worst kind of immortality. Intentionally or no: I had extinguished a light at the heart of the world.

I never got used to the way the horizon there could just erase itself and leave you marooned, adrift, in an incomplete dreamscape that was like a sketch for the world you knew...

It's not about outward appearances but inward significance. A grandeur in the world, but not of the world, a grandeur that the world doesn't understand. That first glimpse of pure otherness, in whose presence you bloom out and out and out. A self one does not want. A heart one cannot help.

The world and everything in it was intolerably and permanently fucked and nothing had ever been good or okay, unbearable claustrophobia of the soul, the windowless room, no way out, waves of shame and horror, leave me alone.

It's not about outward appearances but inward significance. A grandeur in the world, but not of the world, a grandeur that the world doesn't understand. That first glimpse of pure otherness, in whose presence you bloom out and out and out.

They, too, knew this beautiful and harrowing landscape, centuries dead; they'd had the experience of looking up from their books with fifth-century eyes and finding the world disconcertingly sluggish and alien, as if it were not their home.

light so lucid, so heartsick and empty, that I could hardly remember that the world had ever been anything but dead.

Somehow, even shrouded and entombed in the storage locker, it had worked itself free and into some fraudulent public narrative, a radiance that glowed in the mind of the world.

and the farther I walked away, the more upset I got, at the loss of one of the few stable and unchanging docking-points in the world that I'd taken for granted.