Quotes About Reflection

Wright contended that after Martha died, "Captain Ross was so overcome with grief, he left the familiar scenes and went with his nephew, John B. Conger, through the then wild Indian country to Mobile, where he took a boat for the North. He

There were other sorts of Christmases besides the one he had made a habit of. And it might do him good to have a change, to see how it was with other people.

Just as one will not get far on the road to happiness by predefining the characteristics of happiness and then going to look for them, we will not grasp what it means to be the church in our time by beginning with church questions, even if they are questions about the church's health, effectiveness, or its natural development!

When I was in high school, I don't know that I really had big dreams.

Where were you when the world stopped turning

Read what gives you delight—at least most of the time—and do so without shame. And even if you are that rare sort of person who is delighted chiefl y by what some people call Great Books, don't make them your steady intellectual diet, any more than you would eat at the most elegant of restaurants every day. It would be too much. Great books are great in part because of what they ask of their readers: they are not readily encountered, easily assessed.

Those who will never be fooled can never be delighted, because without self-forgetfulness there can be no delight, and this is a great and grievous loss.

Great books are great in part because of what they ask of their readers: they are not readily encountered, easily assessed.

when we do not know, or when we do not know enough, we tend always to substitute emotions for thoughts."*5

You can reread not from love or hatred but from a sense, often inchoate, that there's more to this book than you have ben yet able to receive.

Slow down. Make a point of revisiting passages that seem especially rich, or especially confusing, or for that matter especially offensive.

It's what you're reading that matters, and how you're reading it, not the speed with which you're getting through it. Reading is supposed to be about the encounter with other minds, not an opportunity to return to the endlessly appealing subject of Me.

the blogosphere is the friend of information but the enemy of thought.

The answers make us wise, but the questions make us human.

On a clear day Rise and look around you And you'll see who you are On a clear day How it will astound you That the glow of your being Outshines every star You'll feel a part of every mountain sea and shore You can hear From far and near A word you've never, never heard before And on a clear day On a clear day You can see forever And ever And ever And ever more

Si alguien te robara el dinero como te roban el tiempo, pondrías el grito en el cielo, lo perseguirías y entablarías una acción judicial contra él. El dinero puede reemplazarse pero el tiempo no. Tontos que somos, dejamos que nos roben este artículo tan preciado y tan único, y no hacemos nada para evitarlo.

Things happened, as soon as they had they were in the past, once they were, there was nothing you could do. Days and nights followed in a seamless phantasmagoria of action and inaction, of weariness, privation, duty, routine and waiting, always so much waiting. What had happened yesterday might have been in another life, as remote from today as the unknowable events of tomorrow.

when I slip into the past, I become it.

Loners probably experience life at a more profound level than the self-consciously gregarious who know nothing of individuality, or who lack the courage to go their own way.

The tragedy of this world is that everyone is alone. For a life in the past cannot be shared with the present.

A person who cannot imagine the future is a person who cannot contemplate the results of his actions. Some are thus paralyzed into inaction.

Such is the cost of immortality. No person is whole. No person is free. Over time, some have determined that the only way to live is to die. In death, a man or a woman is free of the weight of the past [and the future].

But what is the past? Could it be, the firmness of the past is just illusion? Could the past be a kaleidoscope, a pattern of images that shift with each disturbance of a sudden breeze, a laugh, a thought? And if the shift is everywhere, how would we know?

While people brood, time skips ahead without looking back.