Quotes About Reflection

because I was a lazy idiot and didn't bother to write down the crazy cool tuning I invented. Lesson learned.

Has there always been someone like me to bury the bodies, to have regrets, to carry on after everyone else was dead?

I think I would remember forgetting that.

If someone seems to have changed from one session to another, make sure you haven't changed instead." A warning from his mother, once upon a time, delivered as if she'd upended a box of spy-advice fortune cookies and chosen one at random.

The world we are a part of now is difficult to accept, unimaginably difficult. I don't know if I accept everything even now. I don't know how I can. But acceptance moves past denial, and maybe there's defiance in that, too.

People who asked questions didn't necessary like being asked questions.

What was true empathy anyway but sometimes turning away, leaving someone alone?

We have built so many toxic constructs, we cannot see through the latticework. We have built so many mirrors, there are no windows to shatter.

Was I in the end stages of some prolonged form of annihilation?

There are certain kinds of deaths that one should not be expected to relive, certain kinds of connections so deep that when they are broken you feel the snap of the link inside you.

After reading the journal, I was left with the comfort of that essential recurring image of my husband putting out to sea in a boat he had rebuilt, out through the crashing surf to the calm just beyond. Of him following the coastline north, alone, seeking in that experience the joy of small moments remembered from happier days. It made me fiercely proud of him. It showed resolve. It showed bravery. It bound him to me in a more intimate way than we had ever seemed to have while together.

There was a gleam in her eye now that I did not like, that promised damage. "I want you to think about something. You might be immune to hypnosis- you might- but what about the veil already in place? What if I removed that veil so you could access your own memories of crossing the border?" the psychologist asked. "Would you like that, Little Flame? Would you like it or would you go mad?

I didn't answer her. All I could have said was I don't know, a sentence that was becoming a kind of witness to our own ignorance or incompetence. Or both.

You forgive if you can forgive yourself. Or live with what you've done. If you cannot live with what you've done, you cannot live with what others have done either.

Imbuing fiction with a life that extends beyond the last word is in some ways the goal: the ending that goes beyond the ending in the reader's mind, so invested are they in the story.

There is no one with me. I am all by myself. The trees are not trees the birds are not birds and I am not me but just something that has been walking for a very long time . . .

Be still that human need. To fill the silence with words.

Observation had always meant more to me than interaction.

He wanted to stay there, at the bar, around people but not involved with them.

I loved the late-night slow burn of being out, my mind turning over some problem, some piece of data, while able to appear sociable but still existing apart.

If I don't have real answers, it is because we still don't know what questions to ask.

Hay preguntas que pueden acabar contigo si la respuesta se te niega el suficiente tiempo.

The lighthouse teaches me to work hard, to keep my room clean, to be honest and to be nice to people." Then, reflecting, looking down at her feet, "My room is a mess and I lie sometimes and I'm not always nice to people but that's the idea.

Sometimes insight into character and dialogue means being silent.