Quotes About Perception

Looking like a straight girl] means wearing clothes that seek and destroy comfort. These are garments designed by gay men to attract heterosexual men. The straight girl is simply the hanger for an inside joke.

I never asked about the accident. Something told me not to. Maybe it was the shine of Mother's eyes. Maybe it was Father's smile that tried too hard. Maybe it was something deeper inside me that I still can't name. The Accident. Like a title. A stop sign. A wall.

It's an act of our will to choose to see people simply as wildly loved by God, to assume their beauty before guessing their depravity.

Remember the nature of knowing insider information. It's like a drug. It makes you feel both superior and special. But what if those rumors are false? And even if they are true, you didn't experience them firsthand, and there is most likely a slant to the story you know nothing about.

Maybe there was no one way to define it. Maybe there were as many shades of love as the blues of the sky.

Hear the language that isn't spoken, for everyone can hear spoken words, but only a few can hear the heart that beats behind it.

He consumed me in a different way- the way his eyes made everything jump inside of me when I looked into them, his laughter, temper, the way he sometimes struggled for words, the way his jaw twitched when he was angry, the thoughtful way he listened to me, his incredible restraint and resolve in the face of overwhelming odds. When I looked at him, I saw the easygoing farmer he could have been, but I also saw the soldier and prince that he was.

Maybe some lies, maybe most of them, were lies we only told ourselves.

There is magic in everything, only you must watch for it. It does not come from spells or potions or the sky, nor by special delivery of the gods. It is all around you.

The truths of the world wish to be known, but they won't force themselves upon you the way lies will. They'll court you, whisper to you, play behind your eyelids, slip inside and warm your blood, dance along your spine and caress your neck until your flesh rises in bumps.

I used to be someone. Someone named Jenna Fox. That's what they tell me. But I am more than a name. More than they tell me. More than the facts and statistics they fill me with. More than the video clips they make me watch. More . But I'm not sure what.

Snow. I wondered what it felt like. Aunt Bernette said it could be both soft and hard, cold and hot. It stung and burned when the wind pelted it through the air, and it was a gentle cold feather when it drifted down in lazy circles from the sky. I couldn't imagine it being so many things, and I wondered if she had taken license with her story as Father always claimed. I couldn't stop thinking of it. Snow.

Observing and understanding are two different things.

Well! I'm glad you didn't call him a buffoon." "Or pompous," Pauline added. "Or ignorant," Jeb chimed in. "Or an ass," Kaden said. "I didn't call him an ass." Rafe grunted. "You may as well have." Now

Things I can feel. Hard. Soft. Rough. Smooth. But the inside kind of feel, it is all the same, like foggy mush. Is that the part of me that is still asleep? (9)

I wondered if she was truly Rahtan. Yes, she was skilled, but she didn't exactly possess brawn—even if she had managed to overtake me and slam me up against the wall. But juggling? Riddles? Her age. Her poise and demeanor was that of a cynical tested soldier, but her appearance—she was young, younger than me, I was certain. Her black hair fell in thick, long waves, and her hands were delicate, her fingers more suited for a piano than a sword.

I knew why he chose the brown. It was the plainest of my dresses, certainly drab in his eyes, but all the better to contrast and showcase the red he'd have me wear tomorrow. I had no doubt he'd ordered the snow itself as the perfect backdrop, and surely he'd ordered the sun to shine in the morning so as not to deter the crowds.

I had seen Rahtan before in Ráj Nivad, but none had been like her. They looked like killers and brutes, and they were big. She barely reached past my shoulder. And they sure as hell never juggled.

Did he even know what love was? For that matter, did I? Even my parents didn't seem to know. I crossed my arms behind my head as a pillow. Maybe there was no one way to define it. Maybe there were as many shades of love as the blues of the sky.

As we got older, their mischiefs continued to be shrugged off, but mine were not, and I knew from that point that I was measured from a different stick than my brothers.

He was a man, not a monster, as you imagine. He died the way all men die, one breath at a time.

Sometimes winning is not only a matter of knowing the rules, but of making your opponent think he knows them better.

People will notice the beauty of what they usually ignore ~

I realized there were assumptions we made about people, and once we did, that was all we could see