Quotes About Observation

Verses are not, as people think, feelings (those one has early enough) -- they are experiences. For the sake of a verse one must see many cities, men, and things, one must know the animals feel how birds fly, and know the gesture with which the little flowers open in the morning.

Then draw near to nature. Pretend you are the very first man and then write what you see and experience, what you love and lose.

The matter with human beans, the BFG went on, is that they is absolutely refusing to believe in anything unless they is actually seeing it right in front of their own schnozzles.

Don't worry,' he said. 'So long as the facts are there, I can write the story. But please,' he added, 'let me have plenty of detail. That's what counts in our business, tiny little details, like you had a broken shoelace on your left shoe, or a fly settled on the rim of your glasses at lunch, or the man you were talking to had a broken front tooth...

Hiçbir yerden tek ses bile duyulmuyordu. Åžeftalinin üzerinde yolculuk yapmak hiç de bir uçak yolculuÄŸuna benzemiyordu. Uçak gökyüzünde pat?rt?lar, gürültüler ç?kararak hareket eder ve o kocaman bulut daÄŸlar?na gizlenmiÅŸ duran bir ÅŸeyler varsa, uçak gelirken koÅŸup saklan?rlar. Ä°ÅŸte bu yüzden, uçakla yolculuk edenler hiçbir ÅŸey göremezler.

The act of copulation is like that of picking the nose. It's all right to be doing it yourself but it is a singularly unattractive spectacle for the onlooker.

I'm sorry, I said. It's none of my business what you do. The trouble is, I'm a writer, and most writers are terrible nosey parkers.

a REAL WITCH is certain always to be wearing gloves when you meet her.

The trouble is, I'm writer, and most writers are terrible nosey parkers.

He resembled, to an extraordinary degree, an asparagus.

on with my mouse- training, but I watched them for a while longer through

I couldn't see much of her face because of the blood, but I could tell that she was lovely. She had high cheekbones and large round eyes, pale blue like an autumn sky, and her hair was short and fair. I guessed she was about nine years old.

Until at last, just as I was finishing my ice cream, she suddenly turned, reached over, picked up my place card and read the name. Then, with that queer sliding motion of the eyes she looked into my face.

Hey, look at all those cheeky birds still up there on the roof! Let's

Now when something is growing very very slowly, it is almost impossible to notice it happening.

Adolph Knipe moved his feet on the carpet, and he watched the two small white hands of his chief, the nervous fingers playing with a paper clip, unbending it, straightening out the hairpin curves. He didn't like the man's hands. He didn't like his face either, with the tiny mouth and the narrow purple-coloured lips. It was unpleasant the way only the lower lip moved when he talked.

seeing where

You can capture a butterfly, and pin its wings down to study the colors and shape and design, but the moment that butterfly is still and you're able to make the most precise and detailed observations about that butterfly is the moment the butterfly can't fly anymore.

The moment you pin down the butterfly so that you can carefully study it is the exact moment in which that butterfly can no longer fly. It's the motion, the movement, the flying, that makes a butterfly a butterfly.

When the officer turned to face her, Veronica blinked.

first-class noticer"—cultivating the ability to attend to what others overlook, experiencing "enchanting reality" as a new and fortuitous gift—is crucial to any creative process.

A newcomer could ascertain the identity of a town's true leaders – which storekeeper was respected, which farmer was listened to other farmers – only through endless hours of subtle probing of reticent men.

A surprising number of representatives," the Saturday Evening Post reported, "knew his hat and coat, when it hangs on its accustomed peg in the House restaurant"—a discreet reference to the fact that many Congressmen checked to see that he was present before they entered the restaurant, lest they be forced to pay for their meals themselves.

While Lyndon Johnson was not, as his two assistants knew, a reader of books, he was, they knew, a reader of men— a great reader of men.