Quotes About Familiarity

But I think it must be easier for a girl to marry someone she doesn't know, because the more you get to know men, the harder it is to love them.

Görücü usulü evlilikte zor olan ÅŸey, kad?n?n hiç tan?mad??? biriyle evlenmesi deÄŸil, hiç tan?mad??? birini sevmek zorunda olmas?d?r, derler... Ama asl?nda bir k?z?n hiç tan?mad??? biriyle evlenebilmesi daha kolay olmal?, çünkü tan?d?kça inan?n erkekleri sevmek daha da zorla??yor.

Home is anywhere that you know all your friends and all your enemies.

People get used to anything, if it just goes on.

Mas nesse momento, sua cabeça inclinada para trás, as folhas verdes e macias se movendo gentilmente na brisa quase imperceptível, sentiu um poderoso déjà-vu. Ele havia olhado para essas folhas antes. Recentemente. Mas isso era impossível. Não havia árvores grandes em Trondheim, e nenhuma crescia dentro do complexo de Milagre. Por que a luz do sol varando as folhas parecia-lhe tão familiar?

If a tale we're reading or watching on screen is too familiar, it becomes boring; we know the end from the beginning and switch off the set or set the book aside. Yet if it is too unfamiliar, we reject the story as unbelievable or incomprehensible. We demand some strangeness, but not too much.

I know all the people I want to know.

They (books) were familiar voices, friends that never quarreled with her, clever, powerful friends - daring and knowledgeable, tried and tested adventurers who had traveled far and wide.

if he didn't fully understand where I came from, he understood who I was now -- he knew how well done I liked my steak, knew the color of my toothbrush, the expression I made when I realized I'd forgotten to roll up my car window before it rained.

He seemed simultaneously like a stranger and someone she knew extremely well; there was either an enormous amount to say or nothing at all.

Not to encounter a true teacher will result in being led around by your feelings and emotions. The case of the foolish son of a wealthy man leaving home with the family treasure and throwing it away like so much rubbish is truly a pathetic one.51 Likewise, to the extent that we are familiar with what the work of the tenzo is we must not squander it.

Acquaintances, after all, are little else than a bad habit.

We select such investments on a long-term basis, weighing the same factors as would be involved in the purchase of 100% of an operating business: (1) favorable long-term economic characteristics; (2) competent and honest management; (3) purchase price attractive when measured against the yardstick of value to a private owner; and (4) an industry with which we are familiar and whose long-term business characteristics we feel competent to judge.

Maybe that's what happens if you get comfortable someplace. Maybe you need some motivation to move on. Actually, now that I think about it, maybe it's not just being comfortable. Maybe it's being used to. A place can be very uncomfortable, but if you're used to it, it gives you a strange sense of comfort. Did that make any sense? For example, why do people stay in places on jobs or relationships that they hate? Why don't they just leave? Because they're used to it, that's why.

The difference between a path and a road is not only the obvious one. A path is little more than a habit that comes with knowledge of a place. It is a sort of ritual of familiarity. As a form, it is a form of contact with a known landscape. It is not destructive. It is the perfect adaptation, through experience and familiarity, of movement to place; it obeys the natural contours; such obstacles as it meets it goes around.

Beauty in music is too often confused with something that lets the ear lie back in an easy chair. Many sounds that we are used to do not bother us, and for that reason we are inclined to call them beautiful. Frequently—possibly almost invariably—analytical and impersonal test will show that when a new or unfamiliar work is accepted as beautiful on its first hearing, its fundamental quality is one that tends to put the mind to sleep.

A book reads the better which is our own, and has been so long known to us, that we know the topography of its blots, and dog's ears, and can trace the dirt in it to having read it at tea with buttered muffins.

Don't introduce me to that man! I want to go on hating him, and I can't hate a man whom I know.

A book reads the better which is our own, and has been so long known to us, that we know the topography of its blots, and dog's ears, and can trace the dirt in it to having read it at tea with buttered muffins.

Don't introduce me to that man! I want to go on hating him, and I can't hate a man whom I know.

The purpose of poetry is to return that which is familiar to its original strangeness.

I mean that memory and association come before comprehension, so that one ought to know all good things—fa—with familiarity before one can understand, because understanding does not make one love. Oh! one does that before, and, when the first little gleam, little bit of a sparklet of the meaning does come, then it is so valuable and so delightful.

Each evening, I ached for the shelter of my tent, for the smallest sense that something was shielding me from the entire rest of the world, keeping me safe not from danger, but from vastness itself. I loved the dim, clammy dark of my tent, the cozy familiarity of the way I arranged my few belongings all around me each night.

He felt like a brother of mine, but not at all like my actual brother. He seemed like someone I'd always know even if I never saw him again.