Quotes About Reflection

I remember a lot of dreams. Sometimes they are hard to distinguish from what has really happened. That is not so terrible. It is the same with books.

One of my many horrors is to become the man with the frayed jacket and unfastened flies standing at the Co-op counter with egg on his shirt and more too because the mirror in the hall has given up the ghost. A shipwrecked man without an anchor in the world except in his own liquid thoughts where time has lost its sequence.

If I just concentrate I can walk into memory's store and find the right shelf with the right film and disappear into it....

you suddenly realise that every chance of being the person you really wanted to be, is gone for ever, and the one you were, is the one those around you will remember.

I'm sorry I laughed...I know it isn't funny for you. It was incredibly stupid of me to laugh. Does it hurt a lot anywhere? 'Not really,' I said. 'Only a bit in your soul?' 'Maybe a bit.' 'Let it sink,' he said. 'Just leave it. You can't use it for anything.

I see the shape of the wind on the water...

But life had shifted its weight from one point to another, from one leg to the other, like a silent giant in the vast shadows against the ridge, and I did not feel like the person I had been when this day began, and I did not even know if that was something to be sorry for.

There is nothing I need from the shop, and this is not the day for social profligacy.

I did not bring a television set out here with me, and I regret it sometimes when the evenings get long, but my idea was that living alone you can soon get stuck to those flickering images and to the chair you will sit on far into the night, and then time merely passes as you let others do the moving.

On that island was a lighthouse I had seen every single summer of my entire life and my mother, too, had seen it her entire life, and I wondered how it might affect your way of thinking, if you always had a lighthouse in the corner of your eye.

I wonder whether that is how we get to be after living alone for a long time, that in the middle of a train of thought we start talking out loud, that the difference between talking and not talking is slowly wiped out, that the unending, inner conversation we carry on with ourselves merges with the one we have with the few people we still see.

Isn't it fun,' she said and she smiled. I let the oars rest in the rowlocks. The water around the boat fell silent, and silently the cabin was floating up above the rocks and the smoke rose softly from the chimney, and how impossible it was to grasp that in the end something as fine as this could be ground into dust.

I could suddenly get a longing to be in a place where there was only silence. Years might go by and I did not think about it, but that does not mean that I did not long to be there. And now I am here, and it is almost exactly as I had imagined it.

All my life I have longed to be alone in a place like this. Even when everything was going well, as it often did. I can say that much. That it often did. I have been lucky. But even then, for instance in the middle of an embrace and someone whispering words in my ear I wanted to hear, I could suddenly get a longing to be in a place where there was only silence.

I was scared. Not of being dead, that I could not comprehend, to be nothing was impossible to grasp and therefore nothing really to be scared of, but the dying itself I could comprehend, the very instant when you know that now comes what you have always feared, and you suddenly realise that every chance of being the person you really wanted to be, is gone for ever, and the one you were, is the one those around you will remember.

er tida en sekk du kan stappe inn i hvor mye som helst, går den aldri bare herfra til dit, men i stedet i sirkel etter sirkel, og så kommer du tilbake hver eneste gang til stedet hvor du begynte. Men det var ikke sånn heller. Før var jeg ung, nå var jeg ikke ung. Jeg ble aldri ung igjen.

En av mine mange redsler er å bli mannen med den frynsete jakka og den uknepte buksesmekken foran kassa på Samvirkelaget, med egg på skjorta og mer til fordi speilet i gangen har slutta å virke. En havarert mann uten anker noe annet sted enn i sine egne flytende tanker der tida har mista sin rekkefølge.

One hour of thoughtful solitude may nerve the heart for days of conflict - girding up its armor to meet the most insidious foe.

Perhaps nothing had happened. Perhaps everything had happened.

I lay awake for the balance of the night letting my dream shatter into indecipherable pieces the way dreams do.

At eighteen I realized I was eighteen and not so smart, or special and that might have been the only way that I was in fact special. I found my ideas poorly formed and repugnant, my self awkward, and, more or less, for lack of a better word, geeky. In fact my brother, second year medical student that he was, revisited his childhood and, when he passed in the hallway, muttered, "Geek." "It's not my fault," I said.

And they used to have cross burnin's a lot more and family picnics and softball games and all such,' said Donald. 'I remember eatin' cake next to that glowing cross. I loved my mama's cake.' 'Yeah,' several voiced their agreement. 'We don't do nothin' now,' a man complained. 'I don't even know where my hood is. I don't even own a rope.

Christ, man, it's 1871, ain't you people ever gonna forget about that slavery stuff?

It's a bitch, ain't it? The things we assume.