Quotes About Realization

You know," he said, easing down into the chair. "It's funny how we always search for reasons not to love—fear of suffering, fear of abandonment—but the love of life, oh, how much you can take for granted until you realize that, one day, you're going to lose all of it.

So he'll realize that preaching vainly won't make him one of the good guys. So he'll stop thinking and instead stir up trouble as long as he's able; so he'll stop being rebellious and start revolutionizing his world; and above all, so he'll go out and start living!

Como se de se

Have you ever had one of those moments when you look up and realize that you're one of those people you see on the train talking to themselves?

Voor sommige mensen is geluk zoiets ongewoons, zo zeldzaam, nieuw of vreemd, dat ze er nooit van kunnen genieten als ze gelukkig zijn, maar altijd pas achteraf, als het besef komt dat ze toen, op dit of dat moment, gelukkig waren.

Every reader finds himself. The writer's work is merely a kind of optical instrument that makes it possible for the reader to discern what, without this book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself.

that melancholy which we feel when we cease to obey orders which, from one day to another, keep the future hidden, and realise that we have at last begun to live in real earnest, as a grown-up person, the life, the only life that any of us has at his disposal.

Hoeveel bedroevender nog dan vroeger vond ik het sedert die dag (...) dat ik geen aanleg voor schrijven had en ervan moest afzien ooit een beroemde schrijver te worden.

the seaside life and the life of travel made me realise that the theatre of the world is stocked with fewer settings than actors, and with fewer actors than situations.

To think that I wasted years of my life, that I wanted to die, that I felt my deepest love, for a woman who did not appeal to me, who was not my type!

So what I had believed to be nothing to me was simply my entire life. How ignorant one is of oneself.

A child who has been breathing since birth without ever noticing it does not know how essential the unheeded air that gently swells his chest is to his life. Does he happen to be suffocating in a convulsion, a bout of fever? Desperately straining his entire being, he struggles almost for his life, for his lost tranquillity, which he will regain only with the air from which he did not realize his tranquillity was inseparable.

How much better life seemed to me now that it seemed susceptible of being illuminated, taken out of the shadows, restored from our ceaseless falsification of it to the truth of what it was, in short, realized in a book! How happy the writer of a book like that would be, I thought, what a labour awaited him!

All the objects which he contemplated with as much curiosity and admiration as gratitude, for if, in absorbing his dreams, they had delivered him from an obsession, they themselves were, in turn, enriched by the absorption; they shewed him the palpable realisation of his fancies, and they interested his mind; they took shape and grew solid before his eyes, and at the same time they soothed his troubled heart.

Only holiness will call people to listen now. And the work of holiness is not about perfection or niceness; it is about belonging, that sense of being in the Presence and through the quality of that belonging, the mild magnetic of implicating others in the Presence. This is not about forging a relationship with a distant God but about the realization that we are already within God.

Rodin's art 'was not based upon any great idea, but upon the conscientious realisation of something small, upon something capable of achievement, upon a matter of technique. There was no arrogance in him, he devoted himself to this insignificant and difficult aspect of beauty which he could survey, command and judge. The other, the greater beauty must come when all was ready for it as animals come to drink when night holds sway and the forest is free of strangers.

When you're in your twenties, someone once wrote, you live to please other people. When you're in your thirties, you get tired of trying to please others, so you get miffed with them for making you worry about it. When you're in your forties, you realize nobody was thinking about you anyway.

The philosopher Ernst Mach once got on a bus, and saw a scruffy unkempt bookish-looking person at the far end. He thought to himself (1) That man is a shabby pedagogue. In fact, Mach was seeing himself in a large mirror at the far end of the bus, of the sort conductors used to help keep track of things. He eventually realized this, and thought to himself: (2) I am that man. (3) I am a shabby pedagogue.

Like Ward Cleaver finding out that June had

Virgil had read once that Grandma Moses was a primitive painter because she thought snow was white. The writer said if you really looked at it, snow was hardly ever white. It mostly was a gentler version of the color of the sky - blue, gray, orange in the evenings and mornings, often with purple shadows. When he looked, sure enough, the guy was right, and Grandma Moses had her head up her ass.

He realized he was having a hard time recognizing that Marcy was gone, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it, and that killing Fell would not answer the problem he was having with her death, would not bring her back, and could have devastating consequences for himself and his family. The little man at the back of his mind could whisper all of that to him: and yet, that realization had little effect on the urge for revenge.

For all that, the higher Kiva ascended the steps of power, the more she realized that her policy of selfishness had, shall we say, certain limits. Perhaps

On the sixth day, Jared and the rest of the 8th finally figured out what that sex thing was all about. On the seventh day, and as a direct consequence of the sixth day, they rested.

Then Dahl remembered that until that very second, absolutely none of that was true.