Quotes About Reflection

As I look across at the camera for the final time, I think back to Poirot's last words to Hastings on Friday. 'Cher ami,' I said softly, as he was leaving Poirot to rest. That phrase meant an enormous amount to me, which is why I repeated it after he had shut the door behind him. But my second 'cher ami' in that scene was for someone other than Hastings. It was for my dear, dear friend Poirot. I was saying goodbye to him as well, and I felt it with all my heart.

When Hercule Poirot died on that late November afternoon in 2012, a part of me died with him.

It was for my dear, dear friend Poirot. I was saying goodbye to him as well, and I felt it with all my heart.

If we humans are good at anything, it's thinking we've got a terrific idea and going for it without acknowledging the potential consequences or our own ignorance.

Teaching happens when teachers help students to think about what they are doing and learning, to ask questions, to consider new possibilities, to take seriously their own capacities to grow and learn and to develop a sense of judgment.

I now live in a ghost world, and not everyone who was once close to me wants to venture into this shadowy place to hang out with me. Some people are clearly spooked. I remind them of their own frailty and mortality. I get it; it's understandable. But it confirms my spectral status to me.

It was as if he'd arrived at the center of himself after a long journey through the wilderness of his own soul.

Cette vie que tu as réduite à des petits tracas, à de légers soucis qui occupent ton esprit étroit comme l'anneau que tu portes à ton annulaire gauche.

How could anyone be"Cary Grant"? But how can anyone, ever after, not consider the attempt?

I feel that I owe my life to them and I set out to write a book that reflects this, reflects the debt I owe them, and does them honor.

What is life?" he mused. "It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time. It is as the little shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

A veces, cuando algún profesor termina la explicación y pregunta si ha quedado alguna duda, Sylvia tiene ganas de levantar la mano y decir sí, ¿podría volver a empezar desde el principio?, pero desde el principio del principio, desde que nacemos, porque aún no he comprendido nada en estos casi dieciséis años de vida.

En la primera mitad de la vida lo que más importa es la apariencia externa, pero cuando entramos en la segunda sólo nos mantienen los cimientos, los pilares ocultos donde se sienta la estructura de nuestra personalidad.

Creí enamorarme un par de veces, pero en realidad seguía enamorado de alguien que ya no estaba conmigo.

Nos hacemos mayores, pero no nos hacemos mejores.

Reading is an act of resistance in a landscape of distraction.... We regain the world by withdrawing from it just a little by stepping back from the noise.

look backward for answers to future problems may be left behind.

A college president I know keeps three books on his night table: the Bible, the Iliad, and Louis Auchincloss' 1964 novel The Rector of Justin. When I once asked him, "Why the novel?," he responded, "Because it raises questions I cannot answer or ignore, the sort of questions that possess a wisdom apart from answers.

It must be admitted, truth compels me to admit, even here in the presence of the monument we have erected to his memory, Abraham Lincoln was not . . . either our man or our model. In his interests, in his associations, in his habits of thought, and in his prejudices, he was a white man.

All memory is prelude.

be included among those Americans the modern theologian Donald W. Shriver Jr. has called "honest patriots," those who manifest an ironic-tragic love of country by learning, narrating, and working through its past of contradiction and evil, and not by evading it.

Do those we remember remember us?

Displaced by darkness, you lie flat on your back, putting the world behind you, and stare at the moon, the embarrassing moon, with nothing to offer it, no ebb or flow, no wolfish transformations except this lunacy you keep to yourself

Spending so much time alone had turned Chloe's imagination into a deep dark forest. It was a magical place to escape to, and so much more thrilling than real life.