Quotes About Perception

les livres ne racontent rien. Rien que tu puisse croire ou enseigner aux autre. Si ce sont des romans, ils parlent d'êtres qui n'existent pas, de produits de l'imagination. Dans le cas contraire, c'est encore pire. Chaque professeur traite l'autre d'idiot. Chaque philosophe essaie de brailler plus fort que son adversaire. Ils galopent tous dans tous les sens, obscurcissant les étoiles, éteignant le soleil. On en sort complètement perdu.

insanlar daha çok meÅŸaleye benziyorlard?;birileri üfleyinceye kadar yanarlard?.Ne kadar nadir diÄŸer insanlar?n yüzleri sizi sizden al?p,kendi duygular?n?z? en titrek düÅŸüncelerinizi sizlere yans?t?rd??

Se da cuenta ahora porqué los libros son odiados y temidos? Muestran los poros del rostro de la vida

It is in the totality of experience reckoned with, filed, and forgotten, that each man is truly different from all others in the world.

It is a subliminal thing. It is the tick of a clock that has ticked so long one no longer notices. Something is in a room when a man lives in it. Something is not in the room when a man is dead in it.

Marriage made people old and familiar, while still young. She

She knew a thing she should have known all along: that dead people are like wax memory-you take them in your mind, you shape and squeeze them, push a bump here, stretch one out there, pull the body tall, shape and reshape, handle, sculp and finish a man-memory until he's all out of kilter.

All of us improbable to one another because we are not present to one another

In most cases I don't even know the metaphors lay waiting to be printed off my retina.

They are so confident they will run on forever. But they won't run on. They don't know that this is all one huge big blazing meteor that makes a pretty fire in space, but that someday it'll have to hit. They see only the blaze, the pretty fire, as you saw it.

They are so confident that they will run on for ever. But they won't run on. They don't now that this is all one huge big blazing meteor that makes a pretty fire in space, but that someday it'll have to it. They see only the blaze, the pretty fire, as you saw it.

So now do you see why books are hated and feared? They show the pores in the face of life.

Watch. Delicately, like the petals of a flower. Light the first page, light the second page. Each becomes a black butterfly. Beautiful, eh? Light the third page, from the second and so on, chain-smoking, chapter by chapter, all the silly things the words mean, all the false promises, all the secondhand notions and time-worn philosophies.

Ray Bradbury's definition of a book is at the end, when he points out that we should not judge our books by their covers, and that some books exist between covers that are perfectly people-shaped.) —Neil

Thinking a man good, we risk his duplicity. Thinking a man bad, we deny sanctuary.

Summer was over. Of course you can't tell in Los Angeles.

So you go in a library, and you pull a book off the shelf, and you open it, and what are you looking for? A mirror. All of a sudden, a mirror is there and you see yourself.

He had felt that a moment before his making the turn, someone had been there. The air seemed charged with a special calm as if someone had waited there, quietly, and only a moment before he came, simply turned to a shadow and let him through. Perhaps his nose detected a faint perfume, perhaps the skin on the backs of his hands, on his face, felt the temperature rise at this one spot where a person's standing might raise the immediate atmosphere ten degrees for an instant.

In other words, if your boy is a poet, horse manure can only mean flowers to him; which is, of course, what horse manure has always been about.

It is the privilege of old people to seem to know everything. But it's an act and a mask, like every other act and mask. Between ourselves, we old ones wink at each other and smile, saying, How do you like my mask, my act, my certainty? Isn't life a play? Don't I play it well?

He had seen her painted sign by the road: Skin Illustration! Illustration instead of tattoo! Artistic!

Each man the image of every other; then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make them cower, to judge themselves against.

And he listened to me. That was the thing he did, as if he was trying to fill himself up with all the sound he could hear.

Whoever he was or whatever he was and no matter how different and crazy he seemed, he was not crazy.