Quotes About Reflection

We must remember these people when we are safely in the future.

other. I managed to read one that said. 'What's a superego?' Written down, it looked very odd, like a sauce for spaghetti or a musical tempo mark – spiritoso, sforzando, superego. My headache was growing worse. I wished I had an Anadin (a rather poetic cry of pain). I was too tired to concentrate.

feeling that always came with the rain and the dark. She'd just

What on earth was she doing with her life? Could she just get up and leave?

The wounds of war, Juliet thought, rather pleased with the way the words sounded in her head. It could be the title of a novel. Perhaps she should write one. But wasn't artistic endeavor the final refuge of the uncommitted?

It was undignified to be on show like this. That was the thing about hospitals, anyone could wander into your room and gawp at you when you were at your very lowest, your most unflattering.

A whole life could be contained in a dinner-service pattern

I have been transcribing those poems and considering how lucky we are to live longer than flowers, even if not much happens to us.

Experience can't be reduced to a 4x6 inch still, her mother says. People stick their loves in cellophane prisons. They incarcerate images. Then they put these cemeteries on coffee tables. They're mockeries.

Holy Abercrombie catalog , Megan thought.

Without stories, how do we know who we are? How can we imagine who we can be?

She had all her life long been accustomed to harbor thoughts and emotions which never voiced themselves.

Or else she stayed in and nursed a mood with which she was becoming too familiar for her own comfort and peace of mind. It was not despair; but it seemed to her as if life were passing by, leaving its promise broken and unfulfilled.

Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long.

She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those blue patches of sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.

Sometimes I feel this summer as if I were walking through the green meadow again, idly, aimlessly, unthinking and unguided.

She was just having a good cry all to herself.

She was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet, half-darkness which met her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered and sounded mournful notes without promise, devoid even of hope.

Step by step she lived over every instant of the time she had been with Robert... She recalled his words, his looks. How few and meager they had been for her hungry heart! ... She wondered when he would come back. He had not said he would come back. She had been with him had heard his voice and touched his hand. But some way he had seemed nearer to her off there in Mexico.

She says queer things sometimes in a bantering way that you don't notice at the time and you find yourself thinking about afterward.

She says a wedding is one of the most lamentable spectacles on earth.

Her husband seemed to her now like a person whom she had married without love as an excuse.

Per lei, il passato non era niente; non offriva nessuna lezione che lei volesse ascoltare. Il futuro era un mistero che lei non aveva mai provato a penetrare. Soltanto il presente aveva significato; era tutto suo, per torturarla, come in quel preciso istante, con la crudele convinzione di aver perso ciò che aveva avuto, e che le fosse stato negato ciò che il suo essere fremente e appena risvegliato anelava.

In short, Mrs. Pontellier was beginning to realize her position in the universe as a human being, and to recognize her relations as an individual to the world within and about her.