Quotes About Perception

Drogi panie, ?ycie upÅ'ywa na samych qui pro quo! SÄ… qui pro quo miÅ'oÅ›ci, qui pro quo przyja?ni, qui pro quo polityki, finansów, KoÅ›cioÅ'a, urzÄ™du, handlu, ?on, m??ów...

Los lubi chodzi? krÄ™tymi drogami. Obwiniamy go w pierwszej chwili, ?e skÅ'amaÅ', z czasem zaÅ› okazuje siÄ™, ?e mówiÅ' prawdÄ™.

Ludzie, którzy coÅ› powtarzajÄ… dwa razy, to gÅ'upcy majÄ…cy za gÅ'upców tych, którzy ich sÅ'uchajÄ…

Nie lubiÄ™ mówi? o ?yjÄ…cych; zawsze siÄ™ czÅ'owiek musi rumieni? za to, co o nich powie dobrego czy zÅ'ego: dobrego, które popsujÄ…, zÅ'ego, które naprawiÄ….

Si en este mundo no se dice casi nada que sea escuchado como debiera, hay algo mucho peor, y es que no se hace casi nada que sea juzgado tal y como se ha hecho.

Bizim kadar budala olmayanlar? ak?ll? saymay?z.

We are all instruments endowed with feeling and memory. Our senses are so many strings that are struck by surrounding objects and that also frequently strike themselves.

Au fost l?udaÅ£i mult mai mult oamenii ocupaÅ£i a ne face s? credem c? suntem fericiÅ£i, decât oamenii ocupaÅ£i a ne face s? fim fericiÅ£i cu adev?rat. Ce ciud??enie în judec??ile noastre! Pretindem ca fiecare s? fac? ceva folositor, dar îi dispreÅ£uim pe oamenii folositori.

Engullimos de un sorbo la mentira que nos adula y bebemos gota a gota la verdad que nos amarga.

Once upon a time there was a war...and a young American who thought of himself as the Quiet American and the Ugly American, and who wished to be neither, who wanted instead to be the Wise American, or the Good American, but who eventually came to witness himself as the Real American and finally as simply the Fucking American. That's me.

WE'RE ON THE CUTTING EDGE OF REALITY ITSELF. RIGHT WHERE IT TURNS INTO A DREAM

The women were blank, shining areas with photographs of sad girls floating in them.

It was all right to be who he was, but others would probably think it was terrible. A couple of times in the past he'd reached this absolute zero of the truth, and without fear or bitterness he realized now that somewhere inside it there was a move he could make to change his life, to become another person, but he'd never be able to guess what it was.

The abyss is full of reality, the abyss experiences itself, the abyss is alive.

As he expressed these ideas he followed them with his eyes, watching them gallop away to the place where they made sense.

It wasn't that she expected to be known by all the bank's employees; it was just that she had been lovely once, and had never really believed that time would make her faceless.

Maybe, when you hear the name Beverly, you think of Beverly Hills--people wandering the streets with their heads shot off by money.

All night the dreamer travels in this region and doesn't realize he's asleep. The differences between the logic of that world and the logic of this waking one are vast. But they feel the same. And isn't that how we recognize logic, by the way it feels?

I'm telling you it's cold inside the body that is not the body, lonesome behind the face that is certainly not the face of the person one meant to become.

To find the people who've became truly sane, seek among those who've managed to do without sanity.

What I don't think has been talked about is the fact that in order to be Hell, the people in Hell could never be sure they were really there.

Meaning can't change from person to person, and still be true

For many minutes before she showed herself, he felt her moving around the place. He detected her presence as unmistakably as he would have sensed the shape of someone blocking the light through a window, even with his eyes closed.

He'd come to war to see abstractions become realities. Instead he'd seen the reverse. Everything was abstract now.