Quotes About Complexity

Strings of language extend in every direction to bind the world into a rushing, ribald whole.

This muck heaves and palpitates. It is multi-directional and has a mayor.

I have to admit we are mired in the most exquisite mysterious muck. This muck heaves and palpitates. It is multi-directional and has a mayor.

I have to admit we are locked in the most exquisite mysterious muck. This muck heaves and palpitates. It is multi-directional and has a mayor.

The daughters are tired of kissing each other, although some are not.

The more detailed we made our plans, the longer our cycle times became

Many of our attempts to understand Christian faith have only cheapened it. I can no more understand the totality of God than the pancake I made for breakfast understands the complexity of me. The little we do understand, that grain of sand our minds are capable of grasping, those ideas such as God is good, God feels, God loves, God knows all, are enough to keep our hearts dwelling on His majesty and otherness forever.

I had always suspected language was quite limited in its ability to communicate the intricate mysteries of truth.

Reality is like fine wine: it does not appeal to children.

My friend looked at me confused. He laughed a little, then sighed, then teared up. "It's true you're bad at relationships," I said, "but it's also true you are good at them. They're both true, old friend." I reminded him of all the people who love him and all the people he's loved. I told him I thought it was unfair for a man to be judged by a moment, by a season. We are all more complicated than that.

Reality is like a fine wine," he said to me. "It will not appeal to children.

Many of our attempts to understand Christian faith have only cheapened it. I can no more understand the totality of God than the pancake I made for breakfast understands the complexity of me.

The more simple and predictable the communication, the easier it is for the brain to digest.

Nobody knew healthcare could be so complicated.

At one point, Paola expressed a wish and used the subjunctive, and Brunetti felt himself close to tears at the beauty of the intellectual complexity of it: she could speak about what was not, could invent an alternative reality. He

All those layers of silence upon silence.

And I know I said earlier that he was perfect but he wasn't perfect, far from it; he could be silly and vain and remote and often cruel and still we loved him, in spite of, because.

my own fatal tendency to try to make interesting people good. And

But, if I dare say it, it wasn't until I had helped kill a man that I realized how elusive and complex an act a murder can actually be, and not necessarily attributable to one dramatic motive.

With a beautiful girl I could have consoled myself that she was out of my league; that I was so haunted and stirred even by her plainness suggested—ominously—a love more binding than physical affection, some tar-pit of the soul where I might flop around and malinger for years.

Understand, by saying 'God,' I am merely using 'God' as reference to long-term pattern we can't decipher.

the world is much stranger than we know or can say. And I know how you think, or how you like to think, but maybe this is one instance where you can't boil down to pure 'good' or pure 'bad' like you always want to do—? Like, your two different piles? Bad over here, good over here? Maybe not quite so simple.

At her tone, at once intimate and formal, a terrible sadness came over me, and when we looked at each other it seemed that the whole past was redefined and brought into focus by this moment, clear as glass, a complexity of stillness that was rainy afternoons in spring, a dark chair in the hallway, the light-as-air touch of her hand on the back of my head.

There wasn't a single meaning. There were many meanings. It was a riddle expanding out and out and out.