Quotes About Reflection

Take it where you can find it, in old photograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself.

They're Caesar's praetorian guard, whispering as the parade roars down the avenue, 'Remember, Caesar, thou art mortal.

But I wanted to show what we all have in us, that it has always been there, and so few of us bother to notice. When people ask me where I get my ideas, I laugh. How strange - we are so busy looking out, to find ways and means, we forget to look in.

The river was very real; it held him comfortably and gave him the time at last, the leisure, to consider this month, this year, and a lifetime of years.

Thomas Wolfe ate the world and vomited lava. Dickens dined at a different table every hour of his life. Molière, tasting society, turned to pick up his scalpel, as did Pope and Shaw.

I discovered me in the library. I went to find me in the library.

Or maybe he means in a richer world the begging population is melting away. But no to that too. So maybe, perhaps, he means there aren't many 'human beings' left to look, see, and understand well enough for one to ask and one to give. Everyone busy, running, jumping, there's no time to study one another. But I guess that's bilge and hogwash, slop and sentiment.

This is a book of warning. It is a reminder that what we have is valuable, and that sometimes we take what we value for granted.

People come to films drowned in reality, leaving behind heart failures, cancer, failed marriages, bad jobs, mean bosses, and future sickness. What they need is not happy endings, but proper endings.

No quería saber cómo se hacen las cosas sino por qué. Esto puede resultar embarazoso. Uno empieza con los porqués y termina siendo realmente desgraciado. La pobre chica está mejor muerta.

I wish I had known him, but he was just another shadow outside my screen door and I already had a sufficiency of shadows in.

When Douglas walked, his mind ran, when he ran, his mind walked.

What did you give to the city, Montag? Ashes. What did the others give to each other? Nothingness.

Write a short story every week. All fifty-two of them can't be horrible.

Cuando yo era pequeño mis padres me llevaron a la ciudad de México. Siempre recordaré el comportamiento de mi padre, vulgar y fatuo. A mi madre no le gustaba tampoco aquella gente porque eran morenos y no se bañaban a menudo. Mi hermana ni les hablaba. Solo a mí me gustaban realmente. Y puedo imaginarme a mi madre y mi padre aquí en Marte haciendo otra vez lo mismo.

If you can't read and write you can't think. Your thoughts are dispersed if you don't know how to read and write. You've got to be able to look at your thoughts on paper and discover what a fool you were.

And he remembered thinking then that if she died, he was certain he wouldn't cry. For it would be the dying of an unknown, a street face, a newspaper image, and it was suddenly so very wrong that he had begun to cry, not at death but at the thought of not crying at death, a silly empty man near a silly empty woman, while the hungry snake made her still more empty. How do you get so empty? he wondered. Who takes it out of you?

Da te pustim na miru! Sve je to lepo, ali kako sebe da pustim da miru? Ne treba da budemo pušteni na miru. Zaista treba da se uznemirimo s vremena na vreme. Kad si se poslednji put stvarno uznemirila? Zbog ne?eg važnog, zbog ne?eg stvarnog?

Boy,' said Ralph, squinched up, balled up, feet against chest, eyes tight. 'England is no place to be a sinner.

Patent-zatvara? zamenio je dugmad i time je ?oveku oduzeto taman ono malo vremena za razmišljanje dok se u obla?i u zoru, u filozofsko doba dana, i stoga melanholino doba dana.

Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us

It is a wise writer who knows his own subconscious.

Montag looked at the river. We'll go on the river. He looked at the old railroad tracks. Or we'll go that way. Or we'll walk on the highways now, and we'll have time to put things into ourselves. And someday, after it sets in us a long time, it'll come out our hands and our mouths. And a lot of it will be wrong, but just enough of it will be right.

The books are to remind us what asses and fools we are. They're Caesar's praetorian guard, whispering as the parade roars down the avenue, 'Remember, Caesar, thou art mortal.