Quotes About Perception

No, the fault lies with the artists," Claire went on. "The writers, the singers, the tellers of tales. It's them that take the past and re-create it to their liking. Them that could take a fool and give you back a hero, take a sot and make him a king.

My father always said that was the difference between an American and an Englishman. An Englishman thinks a hundred miles is a long way; an American thinks a hundred years is a long time.

Feelings aren't truth

I listen," she said simply. "To what folk say—and what they don't.

The flame of Brianna's head moved slightly, looking from one to the other, and I saw what she saw; the echo of Jamie's dangerous stillness in Roger. It was both unexpected and shocking; I had never seen any resemblance between them at all—and yet at the moment they might have been day and dark, images of fire and night, each mirroring the other. MacKenzie

the ancient savagery that men call motherhood, who mistake its tenderness for weakness.

The universe had shifted, with a small, decisive click; he could still hear its echo in his bones.

Cows? he asked, Was it really cows, or was I dreaming?

Mama says the Beardsleys follow her around like dogs, but they don't. They follow her like tame wolves. I thought Ian said it wasn't possible to tame wolves. It isn't.

There's a little trick called the Rule of Three: if you use any three of the five senses, it will make the scene immediately three-dimensional.

I haven't," I said shortly. "But I've the sense I was born with, and two ears in good working order. And whatever 'King George's health' may be in Gaelic, I doubt very much that it sounds like 'Bragh Stuart.' " He tossed back his head and laughed. "That it doesna," he agreed. "I'd tell ye the proper Gaelic for your liege lord and ruler, but it isna a word suitable for the lips of a lady, Sassenach or no.

the difference between an American and an Englishman. An Englishman thinks a hundred miles is a long way; an American thinks a hundred years is a long time.

You must," I murmured to myself, and then my knees buckled. Lying on the floor, with the carved panels of the ceiling flickering dimly above, I found myself thinking that I had always heretofore assumed that the tendency of eighteenth-century ladies to swoon was due to tight stays; now I rather thought it might be due to the idiocy of eighteenth-century men.

Now they think you're mad; then they thought you were a witch. Cultural mores

I've yet to see the auld woman believes in witches, nor the young one, neither. It's men think there must be ill-wishes and magic in women

Some people can leave their bodies and travel miles away," she said, staring meditatively at the page. "Other people see them out wandering, and recognize them, and ye can bloody prove they were really tucked up safe in bed at the time. I've seen the records, all the eyewitness testimony. Some people have stigmata ye can see and touch—I've seen one. But not everybody. Only certain people." She

Kaç ya??ndas?n? diye sordu birden. Dün yirmi iki ya??ndayd?m. dedim ruhsuzca. Bugün yüz bile olabilirim.

I married a lady and she became a whore. I cannot complain if it should be the other way about this time." "You think I'm a whore, do you?" She wasn't sure whether to be amused or insulted. Perhaps both. "Do you normally sleep with your victims, madam?" "I wasn't asleep, Your Grace, and if you had been, I think I would have noticed. (A Fugitive Green)

Feelings aren't truth.

If ever you find yourself in the midst of paradox, you can be sure you stand on the edge of truth.

I estimated the ambient humidity at roughly a thousand percent, but tipped a little of my sweetened coffee into the saucer and blew on it nonetheless.

Jamie stood quite still, feeling his heart beat, watching. It was one of those strange moments that came to him rarely, but never left. A moment that stamped itself on heart and brain, instantly recallable in every detail, for all of his life. There was no telling what made these moments different from any other, though he knew them when they came.

The phrase "Blessed are those who have not seen but have believed" floated through his head. It was maybe not the believing that was the blessing; it was the not having to look. Seeing, sometimes, was bloody awful.

She can hear it," Jem said, smiling into his sister's face. "How do you know?" Claire asked, curious. Jem looked up at her, surprised. "She says so.