Quotes About Reflection

Bertrand Russell: 'Many people would sooner die than think. In fact they do.

Strange is our situation here on Earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to divine a purpose.

To sense that behind anything that can be experienced there is a something that our mind cannot grasp and whose beauty and sublimity reaches us only indirectly and as a feeble reflection, this is religiousness. In this sense I am religious.

I should have been put down at birth.

dinin gerçekten de kötü etkilerinden biri, anlamadan tatmin olman?n bize bir erdem olduÄŸunu öÄŸretmesidir.

There are moments, most unexpectedly, when something inside me tries to assure me that I don't really mind so much, not so very much, after all. Love is not the whole of a man's life. I was happy before I ever met H. I've plenty of what are called "resources." People get over these things. Come, I shan't do so badly.… Then comes a sudden jab of red-hot memory and all this "commonsense" vanishes like an ant in the mouth of a furnace.

Men's lives are not progressions, as conventionally rendered in history paintings, nor are they a series of facts that may be enumerated & in their proper order understood. Rather they are a series of transformations, some immediate & shocking, some so slow as to be imperceptible, yet so complete & horrifying that at the end of his life a man may search his memory in vain for a moment of correspondence between his self in his dotage & him in his youth.

He could never admit to himself that it was death that had given his life meaning.

The more people I am with, Dorrigo thought, the more alone I feel.

And one thing, as they sometimes do, led not to another, but shattered a world.

A world of dew and within every dewdrop a world of struggle. ISSA

He read and reread 'Ulysses'. He looked back at Amy. They were the first beautiful thing I ever knew, Dorrigo Evans said.

A coat hanger of a body trying to remember the coat that years before had fallen off

He reasoned that, as there was nothing he could do about his feelings, he must avoid acting on them.

As a meteorite strike long ago explains the large lake now, so Amy's absence shaped everything, even when—and sometimes most particularly when—he wasn't thinking of her.

It had been a day to die, not because it was a special day but because it wasn't, and every day was a day to die now, and the only question that pressed on them, as to who might be next, had been answered.

Really, the new hand felt normal, no different from her old hand. It was impossible to say why she felt so oddly about it, thought Anna. It was her hand, after all. Except somehow, looking at it, in a way she had no words to describe, it no longer was.

Every death of those you love is the death also of so many shared memories and understanding, of a now irretrievable part of your own life.

death poem of Hyakka

Szcz??liwy cz?owiek nie ma przesz?o?ci, a nieszcz??liwy nie ma nic poza ni?

From that woman on the beach, dusk pours out across the evening waves. ISSA

A good book, he had concluded, leaves you wanting to reread the book. A great book compels you to reread your own soul.

I tried to write what I remembered of the day. It sounded terrible and noble all at once. But it wasn't any of those things.

He read and reread 'Ulysses'. The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.