Quotes About Reflection

A quanto pare, tutta la storia umana non fa altro che ripeterci una cosa: è solo ciò che è stato.

Ogni anno l'autunno gli porta di questi sentimenti. Bisogno di silenzi, di solitudine, di ricordi. Bisogno di dormire. Di ricapitolarsi. Bisogno d'interiorità. La terra lo chiama a sé e lo invita a raccogliersi.

Magari arrivi che senti la tua solitudine farsi pesante ma è un gioco diverso ed essere soli fa molto più male in mezzo alla gente, allora sì che è doloroso e pungono le ossa e il respiro è davvero brutto, come vivere un trip scannato e troppo lungo.

Abbiamo bisogno di molto tempo per accettare la brutalità del fatto di non essere più soli

task not unlike coming to grips with the Holy Ghost.' There

Eliminate something superfluous from your life. Break a habit. Do something that makes you feel insecure.

Eliminate something superfluous from your life. Break a habit. Do something that makes you feel insecure. Carry out an action with complete attention and intensity, as if it were your last.

Scientists and inventors of the USA (especially in the so-called "blue state" that voted overwhelmingly against Trump) have to think long and hard whether they want to continue research that will help their government remain the world's superpower. All the scientists who worked in and for Germany in the 1930s lived to regret that they directly helped a sociopath like Hitler harm millions of people. Let us not repeat the same mistakes over and over again.

The beginning of wisdom is found in doubting; by doubting we come to the question, and by seeking we may come upon the truth.

The paradox of reading is that the path toward ourselves passes through books, but that this must remain a passage. It is a traversal of books that a good reader engages in - a reader who knows that every book is the bearer of part of himself and can give him access to it, if only he has the wisdom to not end his journey there.

The title of the work, its place in the collective library, the nature of the person who tells us about it, the atmosphere established in the written or spoken exhange, among many other instances, offer alternatives to the book itself that allow us to talk about ourselves without dwelling upon the work too closely.

It is the reader who comes to complete the work and to close, albeit temporarily, the world that it opens, and the reader does this in a different way every time.

The paradox of reading is that the path toward ourselves passes through books, but that this must remain a passage. It is a traversal of books that a good reader engages in - a reader who knows that every book is the bearer of part of himself and can give him access to it, if only he has the wisdom not to end his journey there.

It is only by maintaining a reasonable distance from the book that we may be able to appreciate its true meaning.

What we are able to say about our intimate relation with a book will have more force if we have not thought about it excessively. Instead, we need only let our unconscious express itself within us and give voice, in this privileged moment of openness in language, to the secret ties that bind us to the book, and therefore to ourselves.

if you want to be able to talk about a place, the best thing to do is stay at home.

De mis disparates de juventud lo que más pena me da no es el haberlos cometido, sino el no poder volver a cometerlos.

peut-être n'est-il pas excessif de voir dans le poème significativement intitulé « Héautontimoroumenos » [« celui qui se punit lui-même »]

Parece necessário interrogar-se sobre essa ausência de interrogação.

The most excellent and divine counsel, the best and most profitable advertisement of all others, but the least practised, is to study and learn how to know ourselves. This is the foundation of wisdom and the highway to whatever is good. . . . God, Nature, the wise, the world, preach man, exhort him both by word and deed to the study of himself.

The true science and study of man is man.

Each instant of life is a step toward death.

One often calms one's grief by recounting it.

Harvest, oh! harvest your hourWhile life is abloom with youth!For age with bitter ruthWill fade your beauty's flower.