Quotes About Perception

No one can have a higher opinion of him than I have, and I think he's a dirty little beast.

There was an old man of St. Bees, Who was stung in the arm by a wasp; When they asked, "Does it hurt?" He replied, "No, it doesn't, But I thought all the while 'twas a Hornet.

When I was me I remembered I could remember what was not there but may have been there once

where will the meanings be when the words are forgotten will I see again where you are

all these years I have looked through your limbs to the river below and the roofs and the night and you were the way I saw the world

Going too fast for myself I missed more than I think I can remember almost everything it seems sometimes and yet there are chances that come back that I did not notice when they stood where I could have reached out and touched them

we trust without giving it a thought that we will always see it as we see it once and that what we know is only a moment of what is ours and will stay we believe it as the moment slips away as lengthening shadows merge in the valley and a window kindles there like a first star what we see again comes to us in secret

this is the white wind that you cannot believe here it is and the owl sails out to see whose turn it is tonight to be changed

I turned to the room and in the light from the street beheld one beautiful bare breast of a friend's friend gently rising and falling as though I were not there already not there

To remember Is not to rehearse, but to hear what never Has fallen silent.

even there a shining is flowing from all the stones though the eyes are not yet made that can see it

How It Happens" The sky said I am watching to see what you can make out of nothing I was looking up and I said I thought you were supposed to be doing that the sky said Many are clinging to that I am giving you a chance I was looking up and I said I am the only chance I have then the sky did not answer and here we are with our names for the days the vast days that do not listen to us

we know from the beginning that the darkness is beyond us there is no explaining the dark it is only the light that we keep feeling a need to account for

for a time beyond measure there were no rooms and now many have forgotten the sky

How long ago the day is when at last I look at it with the time it has taken to be there still in it

I know how words are, how they go everywhere, one hint is enough. They talk of love, what do they know? We have the morsel and the knife.

Waking Hanging upward into the rushing summer Calling -- Everything is The answer Too fast --

What I thought I had left I kept finding again but when I went looking for what I thought I remembered as anyone could have foretold it was not there when I went away looking for what I had to do I found that I was living where I was a stranger but when I retraced my steps the familiar vision

Poetry is a way of looking at the world for the first time.

My words are the garment of what I shall never be Like the tucked sleeve of a one-armed boy.

So this is what I am Pondering his eyes that could not Conceive that I was a creature to run from I who have always believed too much in words

Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.

By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!

If you hear something you like, and you're halfway like the public, chances are they'll like it too.