Quotes About Strangeness

She] felt as if she were both a stranger to herself and more herself than she'd ever been.

Everyone is so weird in L.A. that if you're somewhat normal, it's exotic.

Love is the biggest mystery of the universe. But why try to solve it, when one simply view it for what it is and marvel at the wonders and strangeness it brings?

Quando avevo pensato a me stessa in solitudine, mi ero trovata a volte troppo strana e sola per avere qualche diritto di vivere.

Death makes the whole world kin. Rowan wondered if a world without death would then make everyone stranger.

Le beau est toujours bizarre

Strangeness is the indispensable condiment of all beauty. — Charles Baudelaire

The first children of my age that I knew were in kindergarten. They seemed very strange, they laughed and talked and seemed happy. I didn't like them.

I had noticed that both in the very poor and very rich extremes of society the mad were often allowed to mingle freely. I knew that I wasn't entirely sane. I still knew, as I had as a child, that there was something strange about myself. I felt as if I were destined to be a murderer, a bank robber, a saint, a rapist, a monk, a hermit.

And strange are the ways of deep emotion.

Often it's scarier when stuff is weird and when you don't fully understand the motive. Pennywise in 'IT' is very weird.

Faced with parts of ourselves that we do not recognize, would like perhaps not to recognize, we deny the kinship, and often lean away from the new and into the old, accentuating the familiar qualities that complement the strange new ones.

Visto despuès, podría parecer un modo extraño de empezar una guerra. Solo uno de los implicados sabía de lo que de verdad sucedía, y por casualidad

What a beautiful bird, they kept telling one another, which was a weird thing to say about a dead thing without a head.

You know what I mean? Real and unreal, beautiful and strange, like a dream. It got me high as a kite, but it didn't last long enough. It ended too soon and left nothing behind." That's how it is with dreams," said Priscilla. "They're the perfect crime.

It was wonderful, Pris. What was, honey? The meeting? The champagne? The eclipse, said Ricki. It was probably the most real thing I've ever seen, but it was also like a dream. You know what I mean? Real and unreal, beautiful and strange, like a dream. It got me high as a kite, but it didn't last long enough. It ended too soon and left nothing behind. That's how it is with dreams, said Priscilla. They're the perfect crime.

The only normal people are the ones you don't know well yet.

Whose house is this? Whose night keeps out the light In here? Say, who owns this house? It's not mine. I dreamed another, sweeter, brighter With a view of lakes crossed in painted boats; Of fields wide as arms open for me. This house is strange. Its shadows lie. Say, tell me, why does its lock fit my key?

In a way, her strangeness, her naivete, her craving for the other half of her equation was the consequence of idle imagination. Had she paints, or clay, or knew the discipline of the dance, or strings; had she anything to engage her tremendous curiosity and her gift for metaphor, she might have exchanged the restlessness and preoccupation with whim for an activity that provided her with all she yearned for. And like any artist with no art from, she became dangerous.

It made me feel odd looking at that eye, like there was a world of curiosities I didn't know about: crocodiles with huge eyes and snakes with no heads and thunderbolts God threw down that turned to stone. Sometimes I got that hollowed-out feeling too when looking at a sky full of stars or into the deep water the few times I went out in a boat, and I didn't like it: it was as if the world were too strange for me ever to understand it.

It took determination to be really strange. That, or absinthe before breakfast every day.

if Earth is reduced to the size of a bacteria, and inspected under high-powered optics, would it seem stranger than a virus?

tuhaf olan, hep güzel olandan daha iyidir.

Porcelain The shards of life, glued together, form a strange teacup. Unused, it quietly observes us from the sideboard.