Quotes About Reflection

It was, in the night, as though I had been faced by my own reflection in the depths of a somber and immense mirror.

Thinking is the great enemy of perfection. The habit of profound reflection, I am compelled to say, is the most pernicious of all the habits formed by the civilized man.

I don't like work-no man does-but I like what is in the work-the chance to find yourself.

Youth' is a feet of memory. It is a record of experience.

An author writes only half the book. The rest is written by readers.

It seems to me that all my life before that momentous day is infinitely remote, a fading memory of light-hearted youth, something on the other side of a shadow.

Formerly, in solitude and in silence, he had been used to think clearly and sometimes even profoundly, seeing life outside the flattering optical delusion of everlasting hope, of conventional self-deceptions, of an ever-expected happiness.

Time had past indeed: it had overtaken him and gone ahead. It had left him hopelessly behind with a few poor gifts: the iron grey hair, the heavy fatigue of the tanned face, two scars, a pair of tarnished shoulderstraps; one of those steady, reliable men who are the raw material of great reputations, one of those unaccounted lives that are buried without drums and trumpets under the foundations of monumental success.

To slay, to love—the greatest enterprises of life upon a man! And I have no experience of either.

No, I don't like work. I had rather laze about and think of all the fine things that can be done. I don't like work - no man does - but I like what is in the work - the chance to find yourself. Your own reality - for yourself, not for others - what no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show, and never can tell what it really means.

The work is not dear to me, but I'm glad for that which is in the work - a chance to find yourself.

No, I don't like work. I had rather laze about and think of all the fine things that can be done. I don't like work—no man does—but I like what is in the work— the chance to find yourself. Your own reality—for yourself, not for others—what no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show, and never can tell what it really means.

I don't like work. I had rather laze about and think of all the fine things that can be done. I don't like work—no man does—but I like what is in the work—the chance to find yourself. Your own reality—for yourself, not for others—what no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show, and never can tell what it really means.

Hullunkurinen juttu, tämä elämä – tämä salaperäinen järjestelmä, jonka armoton logiikka toimii turhaa tarkoitusta varten. Enin mitä siltä voi toivoa saavansa on vähäinen itsetuntemus – joka tulee liian myöhään, satonaan lähtemätön katumus.

The reaches opened before us and closed behind, as if the forest had stepped leisurely across the water to bar the way for our return. We penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness.

Gewiss," he said, and stood still holding up the candelabrum, but without looking at me. "Evident! What is it that by inward pain makes him know himself? What is it that for you and me makes him — exist?

The solitude of the sea intensifies the thoughts and the facts of one's experience which seems to lie at the very centre of the world, as the ship which carries one always remains the centre figure of the round horizon.

brain as a shadow passes away upon a white screen. She lives in the cottage and works for Miss Swaffer. She is Amy Foster for everybody, and the child is 'Amy Foster's boy.' She calls him Johnny—which means Little John. It is impossible to say whether this name recalls anything to her. Does she ever think of the past? I have seen her hanging over the boy's cot in a

N-am smuls noi, oare, navigând laolalt? pe marea nemuritoare, un sens vieÈ›ilor noastre p?c?toase? Adio, fraÈ›ilor! AÈ›i fost niÈ™te mateloÈ›i destoinici. La fel de destoinici ca oricare dintre cei care-au izbit vreodat?, urlând, în pânzele zbuciumate ale arborelui mare; sau care, leg?nându-se pe vergi, invizibili în noapte, au r?spuns chiuind la chiotele furtunii.

No quiero aburrirlos demasiado con lo que me ocurrió personalmente

it is such a long time since we both turned saints, that you may have forgotten we, too, sinned in our time?

I don't like work--no man does--but I like what is in the work, the chance to find yourself. Your own reality--for yourself, not for others--what no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show and never can tell what it really means.

One lives too long. Happy X-mas.

Stein lifted his hand. "And do you know how many opportunities I let escape; how many dreams I had lost that had come in my way?" He shook his head regretfully. "It seems to me that some would have been very fine — if I had made them come true. Do you know how many? Perhaps I myself don't know.