Quotes About Perception

Vokspapiret ble skilt fra rullen i et rat-a-tat-forløp, krøp langs den hakkete kanten på esken, og hun hørte det nedover ryggraden, tenkte hun.

Steffie took my hand and we walked past the fruit bins, an area that extended about forty-five yards along one wall. The bins were arranged diagonally and backed my mirrors that people accidentally punched when reaching for fruit in upper rows.

All human existence is a trick of light.

Billy couldn't recall ever having seen a blind man laugh

It's hard to be beautiful. You have an obligation to people. You almost become public property. You can lose yourself and get almost mentally disturbed on just the public nature of being beautiful. Don't think I haven't thought about it. You can get completely lost in that whole dumb mess. And anyway who's to say what's beautiful and what's ugly?

Sometimes I think everything I've done since those years, everything around me in fact, I don't know if you feel this way but everything is vaguely—what—fictitious.

If your child thinks you're guilty of something, right or wrong, then you're guilty.

In a crisis the true facts are whatever other people say they are.

We can't do justice to our dreams, reworking them in memory. They seem borrowed, part of another life, ours only maybe and only in the farthest margins.

There is only one truth. Whoever controls your eyeballs runs the world.

Every lost moment is the life. It's unknowable, except to us, each of us inexpressibly...

It was not Death that stood before me but only Vernon Dickey, my father-in-law.

As I listened I thought a featureless baggy man was striking me in slow motion with a well-polished stone.

Don't we know when a death is passing in the air?

The ceiling angled down right over me and I raised my arm and touched it with my fingertips. All children, I thought, should be permitted to sleep in such a room; the child loves nooks and odd angles and is frightened into nightmare by equidistance, by parallel planes which conceal nothing.

Do we have to believe something happened exactly the way it was shown by artists?

When we reached the sidewalk, a lovely teen-age girl wearing pink eyelashes asked me for my autograph. I don't know who you are, she said, but I'm sure you must be somebody.

In a crisis the true facts are whatever other people say they are. No one's knowledge is less secure than your own.

It is just so interesting, he says at last. The colors and all. The colors and all.

Why try to describe it? It's enough to say that everything in our field of vision seems to exist in order to gather the light of this event.

He no longer describes the earth as a library globe or a map that has come alive, as a cosmic eye staring into deep space. The earth is land and water, the dwelling place of mortal men, in elevated dictionary terms. He doesn't see it anymore (storm-spiralled, sea-bright, breathing heat and haze and colour) as an occasion for picturesque language, for easeful play or speculation.

People sense things that are invisible. But when something's staring you right in the face, that's when you miss it completely.

A sports announcer said: 'They're not booing - they're saying, Bruce, Bruce.

At first they said skin irritation and sweaty palms. But now they say nausea, vomiting, shortness of breath." "This is human nausea we're talking about. Not rats." "Not rats," he said. I gave him the binoculars. "Well it won't come this way." "How do you know?" he said. "I just know. It's perfectly calm and still today. And when there's a wind at this time of year, it blows that way, not this way.