Quotes About Encounter

People I've never spoken to before come up to me and give me a hug.

All great literature is one of two stories; a man goes on a journey or a stranger comes to town.

A Theologian has nothing on a man who has experienced God

I do not know the man so bold He dare in lonely Place That awful stranger Consciousness Deliberately face-.

There we were, hundreds of us lined up, waving at the great man as he tipped his hat to us. And that is the extent of my acquaintance with Albert Einstein.

Everything depends therefore on encountering thought at its source. Such thought is the reality of man's being, which achieved consciousness and understanding of itself through it.

A man without hands came to the door to sell me a photograph of my house. Except for the chrome hooks, he was an ordinary-looking man of fifty or so.

In most of the world, Magellan is thought of as the first guy who went around the world. Here, everyone knows he only made it as far as Mactan Island, where he was killed by Filipinos.

Sarah's entrance, several minutes before the start of the lecture, had thrown Casimir into a titanic intellectual struggle. He now had to decide whether or not to say "hi" to her.

Only a few hours later, watching another such column go by, he stared right into the face of Monsieur Arlanc—who stared right back at him. He had no hair, his cheeks were grizzly and sucked-in from hunger, but Monsieur Arlanc it was.

The Comanches were originally Shoshones who had come down out of the north speaking a language that, of course, had no word for "pig." When they had encountered this alien species in what was now Texas, they'd had to invent a new term for them. The term was muubi pooro. Different bands of Comanches pronounced it in slightly different ways. The first of those words meant "nose" and the second meant something like a "tool" or a "weapon.

This was a bit like running into a clan of kilted Scotsmen in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

On Seeing the 100 Percent Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning" by Haruki Murakami.

In that state of dishabille, she met the rest of the house. "I

Just as I was about to eject, Heidi marched in. "So," she asked my former target. "How do you know Style?" "We just met him," she said. "You looked like old friends," Heidi told her with an obsequious smile. Then she turned to me and whispered, "They're boring. Let's move on." As

He suddenly rushed me and somehow managed to smash his balls into my fist.

I hit him with a left hook, and he toppled back onto the grass.

A little boy of five or six was standing there, in fact, utterly motionless. He was dressed in grey, grey stockings above the knee, grey shorts, and a grey jersey. He was standing absolutely still, staring down the road towards them. His face was a dead, greyish white in colour. Howard caught his breath at the sight of him, and said very softly: 'Oh, my God!' He had never seen a child looking like that, in all his seventy years. He crossed quickly over to him

He was just entering the club ahead of me, a tall and rather emaciated man of about seventy, a little unsteady on his feet. He tripped over the doormat as he went in and stumbled forward; the hall porter jumped out and caught him by the elbow.

Ironically, he'd yet to leave a good impression. First he'd spilled soda on her, next she'd seen him almost involved in a riot, and then this morning she'd believed him to be either lazy or an idiot.

Why did you come here? To find you.

I think they've met before, she finally said. Who? Thibault and the loser?

Once I climbed into a mountain lion's cage and she bounded at me and put her paw on my face, but she kept her claws withdrawn.

I saw Roland Barthes's 'Mourning Diary' at a bookshop, and I felt it was like I was destined to see the book. I read it all in one go while I was in the shop. The book was mind-blowing.