Quotes About Reflection

But history is that rare woman who doesn't like to look at herself in the mirror. History, when she finds herself in front of one, wipes and wipes its surface at though in this way she might change her face to something better

Do you believe that you will die? Yes, man is mortal, I am a man, ergo... No, that isn't what I mean. I know that you know that. What I'm asking is: Have you ever actually believed it, believe it completely, believe not with your mind but with your body, actually felt that one day the fingers now holding this very piece of paper will be yellow and icy...?

My dear, you are a mathematician. You're even more, you're a philosopher of mathematics. So do this for me: Tell me the final number.

And what if you don't wait? You just drive over the edge yourself? Wouldn't that be the only right thing to do, the one that would solve everything?

The whole of life, in all its complexity and beauty, has been etched into the gold of words.

Do you believe that you will die? Yes man is mortal I am a man ergo... no that isn't what I mean. I know that you know that. What I am asking is, have you ever actually believed it? Believed it completely? Believed not with your mind but with your body? Actually felt that one the fingers now holding this very piece of paper will be icy and yellow? No, of course you don't believe it. Which is the reason why up until now you haven't jumped from the tenth floor to the pavement.

Besides, I can't, I no longer have the strength to destroy this painful piece of myself, which might turn out to be the piece I value most.

What we need in literature today are vast philosophic horizons; we need the most ultimate, the most fearsome, the most fearless 'Why?' and 'What next?' ("Literature, Revolution, and Entropy")

The microspeed of the tongue ought to be always slightly less than the microspeed of the thoughts and certainly not ever the reverse.

Imagine yourself standing on a shore: waves rhythmically rising, rising, and then suddenly they stay there, they set, they freeze.

Rüzgarla yerinden kopan bir yaprak sükunetle aÅŸa?? düÅŸer ama düÅŸerken döner, k?vr?l?r ve tan?d??? her dalla, her filizle, gövdeyle göz göze gelir... Yanlar?ndan geçtiÄŸim her kafaya, duvarlar?n saydam buzuna, bulutlara uzanan Ak?mtoplar Kulesi'yle iÅŸte öyle göz göze geldim.

Let my notes, like the most sensitive seismograph, record the curve of even the most insignificant vibrations of my brain: for it is precisely such vibrations that are sometimes the forewarning of...

Dicen que hay flores que sólo despuntan una vez cada cien años. ¿Y por qué no hay otras que florezcan cada mil o cada diez mil años? Tal vez hasta ahora no lo hayamos sabido por la sencilla razón de que esa vez-cada-mil-años toca precisamente hoy.

The speed of a tongue should always go some seconds behind the speed of thought, never the other way around.

How awful for you! By the looks of it, you've developed a soul.

But, my dear friends, you must try to think a little now—it will help matters.

Buzele ei erau ale mele, sorbeam, sorbeam, m? dezlipeam, priveam în t?cere ochii deschiÈ™i spre mine - È™i din nou...

Bir o gözüne, bir ötekine bak?yor, her birinde kendimi görüyorum: gökkuÅŸa?? zindanlar?nda ufac?k, minicik bir mahpus...

Does everyone have a pain that can be wrested from within only along with their heart, and does everyone have to do something before....

Yesterday was to me like the paper through which chemists filter their solutions: all suspended particles, all that is superfluous remains on this paper. And this morning I went downstairs freshly distilled, transparent.

Can it really be that the world- our world- still exists? Or is this just inertia, the generator is off, but the gears are still turning and plodding along- two or three more rotations, then on the fourth, they'll come to a standstill...

Children are exceptionally brave philosophers. And brave philosophers are always children.

I walked alone through the twilit street. The wind was whirling, driving, carrying me like a slip of paper. Fragments of cast-iron sky flew and flew-they had another day, two days to hurtle through infinity… The unifs of passersby brushed against me, but I walked alone. I saw it clearly: everyone was saved, but there was no salvation for me. I did not want salvation …"(c)

Quem sabe como tu és? O homem é como os romances: só na última página é que se sabe o final