Quotes About Perception

It shows too much. Women are meant to be inhaled, not impaled.

Or maybe he means in a richer world the begging population is melting away. But no to that too. So maybe, perhaps, he means there aren't many 'human beings' left to look, see, and understand well enough for one to ask and one to give. Everyone busy, running, jumping, there's no time to study one another. But I guess that's bilge and hogwash, slop and sentiment.

My dear, when you are as old as I, they won't call you Jane, either. Old age is dreadfully formal. It's always 'Mrs. ' Young People don't like to call you 'Helen. ' It seems much too flip.

Oh, they don't miss me, she said. I'm anti-social, they say. I don't mix. It's so strange. I'm very social indeed. It all depends on what you mean by social, doesn't it? Social to me means talking about things like this. She rattled some chestnuts that had fallen off the tree in the front yard. Or talking about how strange the world is. Being with people is nice. But I don't think it's social to get a bunch of people together and then not let them talk, do you?

Did you ever read that story about the man who traveled to the future and found everyone there insane? Everyone. But since they were all insane they didn't know they were all insane. They all acted alike and so they thought themselves normal. And since our hero was the only sane one among them, he was abnormal; therefore, he was the insane one. To them, at least. Yes, Mr. Douglas, insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.

We should not judge our books by their covers, some books exist between covers that are perfectly people-shaped

Que la gente intervenga en concursos donde haya que recordar las palabras de las canciones más populares, o los nombres de las capitales de los Estados, o cuánto maíz cosechó Iowa el último año. Llénalos de noticias incombustibles. Sentirán que la información los ahoga, pero se creerán inteligentes.

Well, what tongue does the wind talk? What nationality is a storm? What country do rains come from? What color is lightning? Where does thunder go when it dies?

Entende agora porque os livros são odiados e temidos? Eles mostram os poros no rosto da vida.

I sometimes think drivers don't know what grass is, or flowers, because they never see them slowly, she said. If you showed a driver a green blur, Oh yes! he'd say, that's grass! A pink blur! That's a rose garden! White blurs are houses. Brown blurs are cows.

O kuo iš tikr?j? kvepia Laikas? Dulk?mis, laikrodžiais, žmon?mis.

We carry our homes in our heads.

you'll find as you get older the days kind of blur ... can't tell one from the other...

As a final note, in these days when we worry and we argue about whether ebooks are real books, I love how broad 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.)

me gusta observar a la gente. A veces, me paso el día entero en el metro, y los contemplo, los escucho. Sólo deseo saber qué son, qué desean y adónde van. (...) A veces me deslizo a hurtadillas y escucho en el metro. O en las cafeterías. Y, ¿sabe qué? - ¿Qué? - La gente no habla de nada.

Intuited novels are far more 'true' than all your scribbled data-fact reportage in the history of the world!

But Clarisse's favorite subject wasn't herself. It was everyone else, and me. She was the first person in a good many years I've really liked. She was the first person I can remember who looked straight at me as if I counted.

Magic, you say? asked Douglas. Magic six ways from Sunday. You believe it? Yes I do and no I don't.

V?y Ä'ó! Má»™t cu?n sách là má»™t kh?u súng Ä'ã n?p ??n trong c?n nhà bên c?nh. ??t nó Ä'i. TÆ°á»›c phát ??n kh?i kh?u súng kia Ä'i. Xé to?c tâm trí con ng??i Ä'i. Ai bi?t ???c k? nào có th? là Ä'ích ng?m c?a ng??i ??c rá»™ng?

Llénate los ojos de asombro, vive como si fueses a morir en los próximos diez segundos. Observa el universo. Es más fantástico que cualquier sueño construido o pagado en una fábrica.

The two women passed like needles, sewing one tree to the next with their perfume.

He saw himself in her eyes, suspended in two shining drops of bright water, himself dark and tiny, in fine detail, the lines about his mouth, everything there, as if her eyes were two miraculous bits of violet amber that might capture and hold him intact.

He saw many hands held to its warmth, hands without arms, hidden in darkness. Above the hands, motionless faces that were only moved and tossed and flickered with firelight. He hadn't known fire could look this way. He had never thought in his life that it could give as well as take.

Colored people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don't feel good about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Burn it. Someone's written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book.