Quotes About Reflection

She didn't want to know how a thing was done, but why. That can be embarrassing. You ask Why to a lot of things and you wind up very unhappy indeed, if you keep at it.

El cierre de cremallera desplaza al botón y el hombre ya no dispone de todo ese tiempo para pensar mientras se viste, una hora filosófica y, por tanto, una hora de melancolía.

No front porches. My uncle says there used to be front porches. And people sat there sometimes at night, talking when they wanted to talk, rocking, and not talking when they didn't want to talk.

Let me alone," said Mildred. "I didn't do anything." "Let you alone! That's all very well, but how can I leave myself alone? We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?

SavaÅŸ kazan?lan bir ÅŸey deÄŸildir Charlie. Sadece her zaman kaybedersin ve en son kaybeden ÅŸartlar? ortaya koyar. Hat?rlad???m her ÅŸey bir sürü kaybediÅŸ, üzüntü ve bittiÄŸinde hiçbir iyi ÅŸeyin olmad???. BittiÄŸi zaman Charles, art?k silahlarla iÅŸiniz kalmad???ndan, bu bile kendi ba??na bir kazan??. ...

ridges of his thumbprint. He touched me. As I said

But my uncle says that was merely rationalizing it; the real reason, hidden underneath, might be they didn't want people sitting like that, doing nothing, rocking, talking; that was the wrong kind of social life. People talked too much. And they had time to think.

Entende agora porque os livros são odiados e temidos? Eles mostram os poros no rosto da vida.

It's not books you need, it is some of the things that once were in books. (...) Books were only the type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid to forget. (...) The magic is only in what books say.

From now on I hope always to stay alert, to educate myself as best I can. But, lacking this, in future I will relaxedly turn back to my secret mind to see what it has observed when I thought I was sitting this one out.

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!!

He paused and tried to feel into himself to see what was really there.

Now, with the message sent, the words said, she wanted to call them back, to censor, to rearrange them, to make a prettier sentence, a fairer explanation of her soul.

Behind him the lights of the lonely little store blinked out and there was only a street light shimmering on the corner, and the whole city seemed to be going to sleep.

one night I met up with Death's friend and didn't know it.

It smells boys ulcerating to be men, paining like great unwise wisdom teeth, twenty thousand miles away, summer abed in winter's night. It feels the aggravation of middle-aged men like myself, who gibber after long-lost August afternoons to no avail.

Occasionally I wonder why I can be so happy. The answer is that every day of my life I've worked only for myself and for the joy that comes from writing and creating. The image in my mirror is not optimistic, but the result of optimal behavior.

I mean, I think, every night, the sun dies. Going to sleep, I wonder, will it come back? Tomorrow morning, will it still be dead?

We carry our homes in our heads.

you'll find as you get older the days kind of blur ... can't tell one from the other...

me gusta observar a la gente. A veces, me paso el día entero en el metro, y los contemplo, los escucho. Sólo deseo saber qué son, qué desean y adónde van. (...) A veces me deslizo a hurtadillas y escucho en el metro. O en las cafeterías. Y, ¿sabe qué? - ¿Qué? - La gente no habla de nada.

Nadie tiene ya tiempo para nadie.

Khóa kéo thay cho cúc áo và con ng??i ta m?t Ä'i ng?n Ä'ó th?i gian suy nghÄ© trong khi thay ?? vào bu?i sáng, má»™t gi? tri?t lý, và do v?y là má»™t gi? s?u muá»™n.

Softly, softly, like two white paper lanterns on a night wind, the women moved over their lifetime and their past, and over the meadows where the tent cities glowed and the highways where supply trucks would be clustered and running until dawn. They hovered above it all for a long time.