Quotes About Complexity

I like you a little more than I want to but not nearly as much as you think I do.

My feelings towards my father were ambivalent in the extreme. I vacillated between craving his attention and hoping never again to hear his name. Love and hate are not incompatible emotions, I reflected. And while I neither loved nor hated him, I would never be indifferent to the man who had sired me.

Most people are incapable of understanding a woman like you," he said simply. "You defy comprehension." "That might be the nicest thing you have ever said to me.

We are all a volume on a shelf of a library, a story unto ourselves, never possibly described with one word or even very accurately with thousands. A person is never as quiet or unrestrained as they seem, or as bad or good, as vulnerable or as strong, as sweet or as fiesty; we are thickly layered, page upon lying page, behind simple covers. And love - it is not the book itself, but the binding. It can rip us apart or hold us together.

It's shocking the things we call love.

A person is never as quiet or unrestrained as they seem, or as bad or good, as vulnerable or as strong, as sweet or as feisty; we are thickly layered, page lying upon page, behind simple covers. And love - it is not the book itself, but the binding. It can rip us apart or hold us together...Layers, by their nature, are fragile things.

We are thickly layered, page lying upon page, behind simple covers. And love - it is not the book itself, but the binding.

Another person is, at the heart of it, unknowable. And if you cannot know a person enough to always guess what they're capable of, you certainly cannot know them enough to hold them in your hands, to control their behavior, to fight, manipulate, cajole or nurse or soothe them into doing what they should or shouldn't. People will do what they will do. The trick is admitting your own helplessness about that little fact.

There are so many different fifteens. And eighteens. And forty-twos, for that matter. Mature fifteens and young fifteens and wise fifteens and lost fifteens. And angry fifteens.

we are all a volume on the shelf of the... library, a story unto ourselves, never possibly described with one word or even very accurately with thousands.

It is one of those moments where there is so much to say that there is nothing to say, no adequate words, anyway, to speak it all.

Nice can have an edge.

A person is never as quiet as they seem, we are thickly layered page lying upon page behind simple covers.

It's both harder and easier without words.

Those are such beautiful words aren't they? Happy ending?" Lilly says. They are. They so are. But after all she's seen, Nash doesn't know if she believes in those particular words. She believes in something intricate and thorny, she thinks then. What she believes is that the story goes on.

We are all a volume on a shelf of a library, a story unto ourselves, never possibly described with one word or even very accurately with thousands. A person is never as quiet or unrestrained as they seem, or as bad or good, as vulnerable or as strong, as sweet or as feisty; we are thickly layered, page upon lying page, behind simple covers. And love - it is not the book itself, but the binding. It can rip us apart or hold us together.

It wasn't nothing, but it wasn't everything either.

Black and white is mix of toughest simplicity and easiest complexity.

Black and white, severally incomplete and at the same time completely several.

Many books describe different problem solving techniques, but solving complicated problems in reality is not so easy.

Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius — and a lot of courage to move in the opposite direction.

God has given us more than fourteen billion cells and connections in our brain. Why would God give us such a complex organ system unless he expects us to use it?

The universe is big. It's vast and complicated and ridiculous. And sometimes—very rarely—impossible things just happen and we call them miracles.

I think, therefore a single fertilized egg cell can replicate itself into trillions of specialized and exquisitely organized cells.