Quotes About Perception

I've never met anyone who made me feel loved the way she did. Everything came alive in her company; she cast a charmed theatrical light about her so that to see anything through her eyes was to see it in brighter colors than ordinary—

Estamos tan acostumbrados a disfrazarnos para los demás que al final nos disfrazamos para nosotros mismos.   FRANÇOIS DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD

between 'reality' on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there's a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic.

I tend to equate physical beauty with qualities with which it has absolutely nothing to do. I see a pretty mouth or a moody pair of eyes and imagine all sorts of deep affinities, private kinships.

Angrily, I concentrated on her flaws, willfully studying the photographs that caught her at awkward ages and less flattering angles - long nose, thin cheeks, her eyes (despite their heartbreaking color) naked-looking with their pale lashes - Huck-Finn plain. Yet all these aspects were - to me - so tender and particular they moved to despair.

it wasn't until I had helped to kill a man that I realized how elusive and complex an act a murder can actually be

every great painting is really a self-portrait

She really was older, not the glancing-eyed girl I had fallen in love with but no less beautiful for that; beautiful now in a way less excited my senses than tore at my very heart.

She, I thought, was very beautiful, in an unsettling, almost medieval way which would not be apparent to the casual observer.

Eso era el cuerpo: falible, sujeto a achaques. Enfermedad, dolor. ¿Por qué la gente se acaloraba tanto sobre ello?

That's odd,' said Henry. 'The first thing I thought of when I tasted that coffee was you.

And what is beauty?" "Terror.

You could grasp it in an instant, you could live in it forever.

Beauty is harch.

And as much as I'd like to believe there's a truth beyond illusion, I've come to believe that there's no truth beyond illusion.

One's thought patterns become different...when forced into the confines of a rigid and unfamiliar tongue. Certain common ideas become inexpressible; other, previously undreamt-of ones spring to life, finding miraculous new articulation.

Another thing I figured out, after a few days in the house on Desert End Road: what Xandra and my dad really meant when they said my dad had "stopped drinking" was that he'd switched from Scotch (his beverage of choice) to Corona Lights and Vicodin.

In a certain sense, this was why I felt so close to the others in the Greek class. They, too, knew this beautiful and harrowing landscape, centuries dead; they'd had the same experience of looking up from their books with fifth-century eyes and finding the world disconcertingly sluggish and alien, as if it were not their home.

You don't need a point. The point is maybe that the point is too big to see or work round to on our own

Are you going somewhere?" I said, regarding him timidly. The suit made him seem a different person, less melancholy and distracted, more capable—unlike the Hobie of my first visit, with his bedraggled aspect of an elegant but mistreated polar bear.

Si un cuadro te llega de verdad al corazón y cambia tu forma de mirar, de pensar, de sentir, no piensas: «Oh, me encanta este cuadro porque es universal» o «Me encanta este cuadro porque habla a toda la humanidad». Esa no es la razón por la que alguien ama una obra de arte. Es un susurro secreto desde un callejón: «Psss. Eh, chico. Sí, tú».

One's thought patterns become different, he said, when forced into the confines of a rigid and unfamiliar tongue. Certain common ideas become inexpressible; other, previously undreamt-of ones spring to life, finding miraculous new articulation.

De algún modo el presente se había contraído convirtiéndose en un lugar más pequeño y mucho menos interesante. Tal vez era eso lo que ocurría cuando la gente se hacía mayor.

I hate Gucci, said Francis. Do you? said Henry, glancing up from his reverie. Really? I think it's rather grand. Come on, Henry. Well, it's so expensive, but it's so ugly too, isn't it? I think they make it ugly on purpose. And yet people buy it out of sheer perversity. I don't see what you think is grand about that. Anything is grand if it's done on a large enough scale, said Henry. this is by god not donna tartt