Quotes About Perspective

I realized as I walked through the neighborhood how each house could contain a completely different reality. In a single block, there could be fifty separate worlds.

So now I was supposed to feel pity for you and those other women who'd lost their own children during a holdup, a murder, a fiesta of greed? Save your poet's sympathy and find some better believer. Just because a poet said something didn't mean it was true, only that it sounded good.

Only in a show like this could you see the complete picture, stack the pieces up, hold them to the light, see how it all fit together. It made me hopeful, like someday my life would make sense too, if I could just hold all the pieces together at the same time. We

Don't tell me how you hate your new foster home. If they're not beating you, consider yourself lucky.

What were any of us but a handful of weeds. Who was to say what our value was? What was the value of for Vietnam vets playing poker every afternoon in front of the Spanish market on Glendale boulevard, making their moves with a great deck missing a written and a five? Maybe the world depended on them, maybe they were the Fates, or the Graces.

It was as if I was blind and she'd told me, sight doesn't matter, it's just as well you can't see.

I imagined Kandinsky's mind, spread out all over the world, and then gathered together. Everyone having only a piece of the puzzle. Only in a show like this could you see the complete picture, stack the pieces up, hold them to the light, see how it all fit together. It made me hopeful, like someday my life would make sense too, if I could just hold all the pieces together at the same time.

And I realized as I walked through the neighborhood how each house could contain a completely different reality. In a single block, there could be fifty separate worlds. Nobody ever really knew what was going on just next door.

You've been everywhere, haven't you." I had, but it hadn't done me much good. T

I was the center of my own universe, it was the stars that were moving, rearranging themselves around me, and I liked the way he looked at me.

And I realized as walked through the neighborhood how each house could contain a completely different reality. In a single block, there could be fifty separate worlds. Nobody ever really knew what was going on just next door.

Time has taken on an utterly different quality for me. What difference does a year make? In a perverse way, I pity the women who are still a part of time, trapped by it, how many months, how many days. I have been cut free, I move among centuries.

You always said I knew nothing, but that was the place to begin. I would never claim to know what women in prison dreamed about, or the rights of beauty, or what the night's magic held. If I thought for a second I did, I'd never have the chance to find out, to see it whole, to watch it emerge and reveal itself. I don't have to put my face on every cloud, be the protagonist of every random event.

Wat was trouwens onkruid? Een plant die niemand plantte? Een zaadje ontsnapt aan de jas van een reiziger, iets wat er niet thuishoorde? Was het iets wat beter groeide dan wat er had moeten staan? Was het niet gewoon een woord, onkruid, met een sliert aan vooroordelen? Onkruid, onding. Onnuttig. Ongewenst.

Once the worst had happened to you, all the rest was just stuff and absence.

I inhabited a territory of loneliness which resembles the place where the dying spend their time before death, and from where those who do return, living, to the world bring, inevitably, a unique point of view that is a nightmare, a treasure, and a lifelong possession.[It is] equal in its rapture and chilling exposure [to] the neighbourhood of the ancient gods and goddesses.

The lay reader, who knows only what the biographer tells him, reads it, as he reads every other biography, in a state of bovine equanimity.)

Listen to me, not to her. I am authentic. I speak with authority. Go to the full texts of the journals, the letters home, and the rest. They will tell you what you want to know.

Theory and interpretation, far from threatening works of art, keep them alive.

I have read a little of the material he has sent-- trial transcripts, motions, declarations, affidavits, reports... I know I cannot learn anything about MacDonald's guilt or innocence from this material. It is like looking for proof or disproof of the existence of God in a flower- it all depends on how you read the evidence.

Part of learning to count my blessings is accepting that many of them I would not have chosen if

Don't be fooled. Charlie remembers things exactly the way he wants to remember them. I suppose we all do...And then we spend the rest of our lives basing the way we think about our families on what we THOUGHT happened--instead of what really did.

I will even admit that spinach, which I hate, might taste good. But I am not sorry that I came with you, Wynn.

Nobody can tell you how the blues feel unless they have the blues. We all take it differently.