Quotes About Reflection

I listened, vaguely knowing now that I had committed some awful wrong that I could not undo, that I had uttered words I could not recall even though I ached to nullify them, kill them, turn back time to the moment before I had talked so that I could have another chance to save myself.

there are times when life's ends are so raveled that reason and sense cry out that we stop and gather them together again before we can proceed

a knowledge of how to live was a knowledge of how to die.

How could one find out about life when one was about to die?

It would have been impossible for me to have told anyone what I derived from these novels, for it was nothing less than than a sense of life itself. All my life had shaped me for the realism, the maturalism of the modern novel, and I could not read enough of them.

I had written a book of short stories which was published under the title of Uncle Tom's Children. When the review of that book began to appear, I realized that I had made an awful naive mistake. I found that I had written a book which even bankers' daughters could read and weep over and feel good about. I swore to myself that if I ever wrote another book, no one would weep over it; that it would be so hard and deep that they would have to face it without the consolation of tears.

I was persisting in reading my present environment in the light of my old one.

The more closely the author thinks of why he wrote, the more he comes to regard his imagination as a kind of self-generating cement which glued his facts together, and his emotions as a kind of dark and obscure designer of those facts. Reluctantly, he comes to the conclusion that to account for his book is to account for his life.

He sat. The white cat still contemplated him with large, moist eyes.

Dewdrop joins dewdrop Till a petal holds a pool Reflecting its rose.

And one morning while in the woods I stumbled suddenly upon the thing, Stumbled upon it in a grassy clearing guarded by scaly oaks and elms And the sooty details of the scene rose, thrusting themselves between the world and me....

If we don't know what we do and why we do it, everything else will look like a possible option.

Everyone has one system they use and one they are building, but most do not see the bigger picture of the system they are in.

Bruheem kol dumuyay eloha! Blessed are all God's self-portraits.

We all spend our lives living beside the people we could have been.

Hope that one has chanced upon the road back to the way things used to be is apparently a strong desire in those who've been locked outside their previous lives.

you can never predict how you will behave when you stand before the tower of vengeance you have erected.

Se descermos até à cave, se descermos até às profundezas, encontramos velhos amigos de quem nos esquecemos, que nos abraçam. Por uns breves momentos tudo é como deveria ter sido.

Perhaps all the dead must go home before they can leave for ever.

Kate leaned against the windowpane and smiled.

Is it odd to picnic at one's mother's grave? To sit up on the cliff and trickle pebbles over the ledge and listen to them bounce until they disappear? To eat an apple, to feel the sun, and to remember her, she who gave so much that it will never diminish? Is it odd to live with ehr in you, to continue to share your days and thoughts with the presence of her loving spirit?

Sometimes I imagine I can feel the earth pause in its rotation, can feel it pause and look at us as if wondering, Just who the hell do you think you are?

The sole purpose of all the other work was just to buy time to be still for a moment and write.

he lay down in the middle of the field in the sun on his back and closed his eyes, and felt wind, sun, the ground below him...The sun confused him, with its warmth, the brightness. He dozed throughout the rest of the afternoon. His life meant something. he was his own man, belonged to no one.