Quotes About Reflection

The things we say to each other, thinking they are so important to say, and yet later regret, that become a part of you no matter how hard you push them away, even as you can't stop thinking about them.

Once the questions snuck in, whatever had been certain became uncertain. Questions opened the way for doubt.

He had come very far, this thought mixed with sadness for what lay behind, so many people with whom he'd forged such slight connections. So many people that, as he neared the end of the rocks, he wished he had known better, tried to know better. His caring for his father now seemed not like a selfless effort but something that had been for him, too, to show him what it meant to be close to someone

Better not to think of people living here, of it being empty Ã¢â'¬Â¦ and yet now you want someone to remember, to understand what was lost, even if it was little enough.

I was thinking, we're kind of distant cousins, aren't we, us and the horses. But compared to that thing up there—we're brothers. You know?

in the off-season, when even the beach is a poem about loneliness.

That took less hubris than thinking this was a message from on high.

What could she do? Nothing. Nor did she want to. There was a choice in not making a choice. She released the sphere, let it hover there in the air.

Why do you see the speck in your neighbor's eye but not notice the log in your own eye?

Rachel, Rachel—what am I?" The strobe of colors felt like a smile or a flash of relief. "That's a tough one, Borne. I don't know what you are." "Am I a squirrel?" "I don't think so." "Am I a fish?" "Definitely not!" "Am I a Ã¢â'¬Â¦ fox?! Secretly raised as a common animal. But really a royal fox. Most royal of foxes. First among fox-kind." I shook my head. "No, not a fox.

What, if anything, might have made a difference, or if it was always going to happen like this. In this universe. On this day.

Moss the shape of Grayson, all around Grayson, covering Grayson like a second skin. Showing, kiss by kiss, the beauty of Grayson to Grayson, who had never thought herself beautiful. That she was beautiful. All of Moss kissing all of her and Grayson seeing herself through Moss's eyes. Reborn in that moment.

At least, that's what he chose to believe. To have a reason for his packing, and a place to think of as a sanctuary. Or a hiding place.

As I adjusted to the light, the Crawler kept changing at a lightning pace, as if to mock my ability to comprehend it. It was a figure within a series of refracted panes of glass. It was a series of layers in the shape of an archway. It was a great sluglike monster ringed by satellites of even odder creatures. It was a glistening star. My eyes kept glancing off of it as if an optic nerve was not enough

Time for another drink, somewhere else. A kind of oblivion.

Both the Star Wars and Friday the Thirteenth franchises have much to answer for.

But I can communicate with you via this small metal contraption (like an old television set): I see your mirrored face and hear your voice; you receive my daily messages and the reflection of my image.

With sunset came a premonition of beauty: The pre-dusk sky already had so many stars in it. Before he activated the lens, he sat there for a few minutes, staring up at them, at the deep blue of the sky that framed them. At such moments, he felt as if he really did live on the edge of the known world. As if he was alone, in the way he wanted to be alone: when he chose to be and not when the world imposed it on him.

My voice had a rasp to it, then. I wasn't yet comfortable talking human. My voice had a rasp, and I gazed upon the bison head on the wall and my voice became raspier still. I gazed upon the mossy rock imported from another country, the water feature in the house, and wanted only to return to all fours and drink from the pond. To gaze at the reflection and remember who I was, not who I had become

Now he wondered why he'd bothered. He disliked having such thoughts because he wasn't above it all—he was in it—but they were hard to suppress.

I knew it for an hour on the autobahn, under a gray Rhenish sky, and forgot it in your arms.

What a nothing you made out of the world you were given.

Mirrors and copulation are abominable, for they multiply the number of mankind.

A circle looks at a square and sees a badly made circle.