Quotes About Perception

E da un certo giorno in avanti, è come al primo canto del gallo; per bujo che sia, non è più notte, se aguzzi lo sguardo vedi baluginare l'alba, il ricordo ha una diversa consistenza.

Color is the keyboard, the eyes are the hammers, the soul is the piano with its many chords. The artist is the hand that, by touching this or that key, sets the soul vibrating automatically.

our day is a green apple cut in two i look at you you dont see me between us is the blind sun on the steps our torn embrace you call me i dont hear you between us is the deaf air in the shop windows my lips are seeking your smile at the crossroads our trampled kiss i have given you my hand you dont feel it emptiness has embraced you in the squares your tear is seekinng my eyes in the evening my day dead meets with your dead day only in sleep we walk the same paths

O?iju tvojih da nije, Ne bi bilo neba U malom našem stanu

I danced frightening things. They were frightened of me and therefore thought that I wanted to kill them. I did not want to kill anyone. I loved everyone, but no one loved me, and therefore I became nervous.

People like eccentrics. Therefore they will leave me alone, saying that I am a mad clown.

I don't know the world, I don't even know myself. I'm forever daydreaming and often can't tell dreams from reality.

Life, dreams, thoughts. Formless and endless. A billion years before our birth. A billion years after it. And in the middle, for a single moment, to see only one person, feeling everything else covered in a white light.

Hope deceives more men than cunning does.

There is nothing that fear or hope does not make men believe.

What is it to inhabit a world? How does one make the world one's own? What is it to lose one's world?

It is better not to have taken on the weight of a man or woman who has seen many winters, winters that rob the eyes of their strength.

Recently, everything around me felt familiar yet amiss, like the first time you ride in the back seat of your own car.

How do you feel?" Ewa asks. "Betrayed." "By who?" she says. "Whom," I say. "Who?" "I feel betrayed by my femininity.

There is an abiding beauty which may be appreciated by those who will see things as they are and who will ask for no reward except to see.

Why, I wondered, do people who at one time or another have all been young themselves, who ought therefore to know better, generalize so suavely and so mendaciously about the golden hours of youth--that period of life when every sorrow seems permanent and every setback insuperable?

English lecturers... who treat the Americans as a race of barbarians without any history should be taken for a tour round Washington before they are permitted to speak!

knowledge that men deliberately refused to perceive the obvious even when such perception was to their own advantage. Still optimistic in spite of the War, I had believed that statesmen needed only to realise the mistakes of the past in order to avoid them, only

Het gedreun van de kanonnen in de verte was eerder te voelen dan te horen; nu en dan trok er een rilling door de aarde, was er een vibratie die werd meegevoerd door de wind, terwijl ik op dat moment niets hoorde.

Love -- not dim and blind but so far-seeing that it can glimpse around corners, around bends and twists and illusion; instead of overlooking faults love sees through them to the secret inside.

Have you ever seen the dawn? Not a dawn groggy with lack of sleep or hectic with mindless obligations and you about to rush off on an early adventure or business, but full of deep silence and absolute clarity of perception? A dawning which you truly observe, degree by degree. It is the most amazing moment of birth. And more than anything it can spur you to action. Have a burning day.

The cactus thrives in the desert while the fern thrives in the wetland. The fool will try to plant them in the same flowerbox. The florist will sigh and add a wall divider and proper soil to both sides. The grandparent will move the flowerbox halfway out of the sun. The child will turn it around properly so that the fern is in the shade, and not the cactus. The moral of the story? Kids are smart.

I tell the story to you now, but in each telling the story itself changes a little, changes direction, and that in turn changes you and me. So be very careful not only in how you repeat it but in how you remember it, goslings. More often than you realize it, the world is shaped by two things -- stories told and the memories they leave behind.

The sand in the hourglass runs from one compartment to the other, marking the passage of moments with something constant and tangible. If you watch the flowing sand, you might see time itself riding the granules. Contrary to popular opinion, time is not an old white-haired man, but a laughing child. And time sings.