Quotes About Perspective

I step back, farther inside the salon. Watching Luca surrounded by girls, all vying for his attention, Elisa attached to him like a nasty growth that will need extensive surgery to remove, is not my idea of a fun time.

Sometimes when we forget to do things for others, it's because we're too wrapped up in our own problems.

You will love the ocean. It makes you feel so... I don't know. Small, but not in a bad way. Small because you realize you're part of something bigger.

They're not chicks. They're ducks.

Sometimes when we forget to do things for others, it's because we're too wrapped up in our own problems. When actually, what we need to forget is ourselves. Change is healthy, right?

don't cry because it's over. smile because it happened.

Cats and dogs are said to be sworn enemies, but I don't believe it. I think we get to choose our enemies, just like we choose our friends.

It was almost pleasant, in a life-sucks-but-at-least-there's-good-music sort of way.

I feel like a three-dimensional girl in a two-dimensional world.

It was about pleasant, in a life-sucks-but-at-least-there's-good-music sort of way.

In galactic terms, four years is but a nano-second.

I'm always right. Except when I'm not.

Roby thought he should get "dibs" on Natalia because he claimed her first, that's what he was arguing. I'm not convinced it works that way. Natalia has dibs on herself, that's what I think.

Well, I guess I do too," Ava admitted. "I just . . . I don't think it's fair. To other people. To get sad all the time, you know?" Natasha

I didn't say it was dumb. It's what you feel,and guess what?Feelings are like 3yr. olds.They're not rational. They're just there.

Silly girl, it's not what the universe gives us that matters. It's what we give the universe.

Maybe you can afford to wait. Maybe for you there's a tomorrow. Maybe for you there's one thousand tomorrows, or three thousand, or ten, so much time you can bathe in it, roll around it, let it slide like coins through you fingers. So much time you can waste it. But for some of us there's only today. And the truth is, you never really know.

In illness, the world went wonderfully warped, high temperatures turning your pillow to a dune of snow and bringing the night sky, with its daisy-sized stars, so close to your bed you could touch it, and taste the moon.

Everyone knows that a lot of memoirs have made-up scenes; it's obvious. And everyone knows that half the time at least fictions contain literal autobiographical truths. So how do we decide what's what, and does it even matter?

Why doesn't passionate love last? how is it possible to see a person as beautiful on Monday, and 364 days later, on another Monday, to see that beauty as bland? surely the object of your affection could not have changed that much. she still has the same shaped eyes. her voice has always had that husky sound, but now it grates on you - she sounds like she needs an antibiotic.

It turned out that not all of those poems were so boring.

How do I explain that having the chance to take a breather midlife and evaluate everything is rarer than a double rainbow?

Old books exert a strange fascination for me -- their smell, their feel, their history; wondering who might have owned them, how they lived, what they felt.

When you think about it, everything has been said before, in one way or another. It's only our experience of it that makes it new.