Quotes About Observation

Those who think 'Science is Measurement' should search Darwin 's works for numbers and equations.

Sincerity, the way we usually mean it, has to do with intentions; we assume it comes from within. But our clients have no way to observe sincerity except through external behaviors. From certain behaviors (attention paid, interest shown, advance work done, empathetic listening), we infer the internal state we call sincerity. Thus

I was amazed at how many fools I ran into until I noticed the common denominator in all those interactions: me." Why

It requires a certain kind of mind to see the beauty in a hamburger bun.

And do you really never look at anything -- anything at all -- and consider it might be beautiful in itself?

We live in an age where the artist is forgotten. He is a researcher. I see myself that way.

Shadows sometimes people don't see shadows. The Chinese of course never paint them in pictures, oriental art never deals with shadow. But I noticed these shadows and I knew it meant it was sunny.

It is very good advice to believe only what an artist does, rather than what he says about his work.

It's the very process of looking at something that makes it beautiful.

Artists, real artists, have to work. They can't be hedonists. Really good painters are always working. The world is such a marvelous place. You have to look and to work. That's exactly why Van Gogh was such a great artist: total commitment. That's what you need.

I believe that the very process of looking can make a thing beautiful.

When you're a kid, and you first start reading grown-up books, it's like looking in a window at night at people who think no one is around.

There is a very remarkable inclination in human nature to bestow on external objects the same emotions which it observes in itself, and to find every where those ideas which are most present to it.

We must therefore glean up our experiments in this science from a cautious observation of human life, and take them as they appear in the common course of the world, by men's behaviour in company, in affairs, and in their pleasures. Where experiments of this kind are judiciously collected and compared, we may hope to establish on them a science, which will not be inferior in certainty, and will be much superior in utility to any other of human comprehension.

Nor are the earth, water, and other elements, examined by ARISTOTLE, and HIPPOCRATES, more like to those, which at present lie under our observation, than the men, described by POLYBIUS and TACITUS, are to those, who now govern the world.

However, since we have never observed the construction of a world or observed the world constructors, we have no way of knowing what causal relations might be involved in such a project; all we can do is construct hypotheses, without any way of judging which of these are more or less likely.

It is impossible for us to think of any thing, which we have not antecedently felt, either by our external or internal senses.

The most perfect philosophy of the natural kind only staves off our ignorance a little longer: as perhaps the most perfect philosophy of the moral or metaphysical kind serves only to discover larger portions of it. Thus the observation of human blindness and weakness is the result of all philosophy, and meets us at every turn, in spite of our endeavours to elude or avoid it.

The first thing to do is carry a notebook and during quiet times or as the thought occurs to you, compile a list of anything that really interests you. In other words, write a list of subjects which fascinate you without regard to photography.

The photographer must have intense curiosity, not just a passing visual interest, in the theme of the pictures. This curiosity leads to intense examination, reading, talking, research and many, many failed attempts over a long period of time. I'm

It is important to realise that two conflicting statements can both be equally true depending on the level from which you observe the same situation.

He liked to collect rocks. That day, he had gathered one from near the path down Longevity Hill toward the water. It was a fine-grained piece of granite that he found under a mulberry tree. He took it from his pocket now and, as was his practice, he inscribed the time and place he had found it, in tiny characters, on the rock. He would add it to his collection, hundreds of stones neatly aligned on his shelves at home, so that he could remember

I should be content to look at a mountain for what it is and not as a comment on my life.

I am dreaming of the funeral of the world, watching it go by carried in an urn reduced to ashes and followed by a horde of mourners, a million abreast, across the broadest lands and all chanting together: We are dead, we have killed ourselves. We are beyond rescue. What you see is not us but your thoughts of us, and I who am observing in terror of it being true hope not to have to wake up, so that I may let myself discount it as a dream.