Quotes About Complexity

Repitiendo a Nâser-è-Khosrow, nacido en Persia en el siglo XI, sentía que un libro "Aunque solo tenga un lomo, posee cien rostros" y que de alguna manera era necesario extraer esos rostros de su arcón, meterlos en mi circunstancia personal...

Silence was not the absence of sound but was itself a sound that could be loud or soft, soothing or disturbing, complex or simple.

It's odd, but even when I am in pain I have a sexual urge. Perhaps especially when I am in pain I have a sexual urge. Or should I say that I am more attracted, more fascinated by women who cause me pain?

The capitan...one of those tall, arrogant, acerbically handsome niggers that most of the planet feels inferior to. Also one of those very bad men that not even postmodernism can explain away.

Nuestra relación no era el sol, la luna y las estrellas pero tampoco era una mierda.

She was one of those golden mulatas that French-speaking Caribbeans call chabines, that my boys call chicas de oro; she had snarled, apocalyptic hair, copper eyes, and was one whiteskinned relative away from jaba.

I doubt that I can speak for all Dominican men but I doubt they can either.

one of those very bad men that not even postmodernism can explain away.

I always hated obvious dreams like that. I still do.

Ich gebe nur zu bedenken, daß die meisten Dinge von Wichtigkeit, die jemals geschehen sind, mehr als nur einen Grund hatten.

My theory of characterization is basically this: Put some dirt on a hero, and put some sunshine on the villain, one brush stroke of beauty on the villain.

Kittredge had obviously misjudged her, but he had learned that was the way with most people. The story was never the story, and it surprised you, how much another person could carry.

he had learned that was the way with most people. The story was never the story, and it surprised you, how much another person could carry.

The funny thing is, and speaking in hindsight, I had come to feel a certain fondness for the man. He was infuriating, yes, but his amiable manner made it impossible to dislike him. One rarely meets a person of such geniality, and I genuinely wished him no further ill. Nevertheless, I stabbed him.

and the thought came to me then that who we are to one another isn't so easy to categorize after all: that fathers can be sons, and lovers friends, and daughters mothers, and that such words as these tell only half the story, maybe not even half.

Yet something nagged at me. It is impossible, of course, to completely know another person; we are, in the end, prisoners of our own minds.

She remembered Grace telling her about Lorcan's evasiveness when she'd first joined the Noctourne-his ability to speak without saying anything, to talk in riddles. He's a conundrum, thought Cheng Li. A walking, talking conundrum

Flawed, we're truly interesting, truly memorable, and yes, truly beautiful.

Let the glossy spreads have their heart-stopping, head-turning kind of beauty. Give me the heart-filling beauty instead. Jolie laide, that's what I would choose. Flawed, we're truly interesting, truly memorable, and yes, truly beautiful.

Jolie laide = "pretty ugly" Draws you to it...bored into heart and mind.

I'm not sure I understand what love is. It's like 'good'. No one's explained it clearly. I love ice-cream. I love chess and mathematics. I love getting what I want. I love getting away with things. But not people. They're either useful or they're not.

You can find academic and industrial groups doing some relevant work, but there isn't a focus on building complex molecular systems. In that respect, Japan is first, Europe is second, and we're third.

No, you can see it in his eyes. I know he looks white but if you look at him closely you can see some coloured blood. He hates it, that's why he's so fucked up. I mean, imagine being nearly white but not quite. Know what I mean?

This way of thinking suggests that nothing is perfection - or at least, perfect symmetry, which to many physicists is the same thing. Nothing is perfect, but not very interesting.