Quotes About Imperfection

The World is not beautiful, therefore it is.

Young lovers seek perfection. Old lovers sew shreds together and see beauty in the multiplicity of patches.

My life is full of broken halos.

What I am is how I came out. No one's perfect and you just have to accept your flaws and learn to love yourself.

Therefore, during creation week when everything was good, there would be no need for any rebuking. If Psalm 104:6–9 were referring to creation week (specifically day 3), then why the rebuke in Psalm 104:7? This implies an imperfect, not very good creation. But if Psalm 104:6–9 is referring to the Flood, then of course a rebuke would exist in a fallen world where the judgment of water had overtaken the earth.

You can't fix things, can you, Louis said. We always want to. But we can't.

Nothing's perfect. Especially not me. I'm just like you were. Human. Hanging on. Holding out for a happy ending. But knowing it ends badly. And then being surprised by joy.

We are always human and we should never forget the burden of being only human

My speech is imperfect. Not because I want to shine with words, but out of the impossibility of finding those words, I speak in images. With nothing else can I express the words from the depths.

It is painful—there is no denying it—to interpret radiant things from the shadow-side, and thus in a measure reduce them to their origins in dreary filth. But it seems to me to be an imperfection in things of beauty, and a weakness in man, if an explanation from the shadow-side has a destructive effect.

My speech is imperfect. Not because I want to shine with words, but out of the impossibility of finding those words, I speak in images. With nothing else to express the words from the depths.

What nature leaves imperfect, the art perfects

Once I did believe the world could be perfected. I don't think that any more. But I believe I've defended the bad side against the worst.

He stood in front of her and told her he'd come, not to climb her tower but to shelter it. In his clumsy way, he was like a prince who arrived with sweaty armpits and bad hair. At least I'm here, he might have said. That's better than nothing. And it was.

It was about acceptance, he thought. About realizing no one is perfect and no one can expect to change someone else. Which

Nobody's perfect, Jack. Nobody's life is perfect. We've all said things we regret. Done things we're horribly ashamed of. But we can't go back and change it. All we can do is learn to live with what we've done, and try not to make the same mistakes in the future.

She had discovered that loving an imperfect, all-too-human man was a far more profound experience than loving a perfect idol.

But it seems to me to be an imperfection in things of beauty, and a weakness in man, if an explanation from the shallow-side has a destructive effect. The horror which we feel for Freudian interpretations is entirely due to our own barbaric or childish naivete, which believes that there can be heights without corresponding depths, and which blinds us to the really "final" truth that, when carried to extremes, opposites meet.

Dac? lumea ar fi fost perfect?, atunci nici eu nu a? fi existat

He was royalty. So what? Everyone had a flaw.

Princess, your temper tantrums make you as defective as an open-ended condom.

A book is never finished; it's abandoned.

I am always on the edge of what I am doing. I do everything badly, sloppily, to get it over with so that I can get on to the next thing that I will do badly and sloppily so that I can then do nothing - which I do anxiously, distractedly, wondering all the time if there isn't something else I should be getting on with.

Just because there's a crack in something, doesn't mean you throw it away.