Quotes About Interpretation

Gerçek bir insan, kendisiyle ne kadar derin bir yak?nl?k kursak da, büyük ölçüde duyular?m?z taraf?ndan alg?lan?r, yani saydam de?ildir... Romanc?n?n bulu?u, ruhun nüfuz edemedi?i bölümlerin yerine e?it miktarda manevi, yani ruhumuzun özümleyebilece?i unsur koymakt?.

Yes, I have been forced to whittle down the facts, and to be a liar, but it is not one universe, but millions, almost as many as the number of human eyes and brains in existence, that awake every morning.

ceux qui apprennent sur la vie d'un autre quelque détail exact en tirent aussitôt des conséquences qui ne le sont pas et voient dans le fait nouvellement découvert l'explication de choses qui précisément n'ont aucun rapport avec lui.

Duchesse, "I happen to share his point of view. Although Elstir has done a fine portrait of me. You haven't seen it? It's not a good likeness, but it's intriguing. He's interesting to sit for. He's portrayed me like some old woman. It's modeled on Hals's The Women Regents of the Old Men's Almshouse

Indubitavelmente, raríssimas pessoas compreendem o caráter puramente subjetivo desse fenômeno em que consiste o amor e como é o amor uma espécie de criação de um indivíduo suplementar, distinto daquele que usa no mundo o mesmo nome, e que formamos com elementos na maioria tirados de nós mesmos. Por isso, poucos são os que podem achar naturais as proporções enormes que acaba assumindo para nós uma criatura que não é a mesma que eles veem.

He was the offended party, he was owed an explanation. In fact there is almost always, attached to the idea of a conversation which might clear up a misunderstanding, some other idea which for one reason or another makes us reluctant to have that conversation.

Ao falar, imaginamos sempre que nos escutam com os nossos ouvidos, com a nossa alma.

By an inverse gymnastic, I who had made a mental effort to add to Rachel all that Saint-Loup had added to her of himself, I attempted to subtract the support of my heart and mind from the composition of Albertine and to picture her to myself as she must appear to Saint-Loup, as Rachel had appeared to me. Those differences, even though we were to observe them ourselves, what importance would we attach to them

A photograph acquires something of the dignity which it ordinarily lacks when it ceases to be a reproduction of reality and shows us things that no longer exist.

as those old engravings of the 'Cenacolo,' or that painting by Gentile Bellini, in which one sees, in a state in which they no longer exist, the masterpiece of Leonardo and the portico of Saint Mark's. We

Chartres Cathedral' after Corot, of the 'Fountains of Saint-Cloud' after Hubert Robert, and of 'Vesuvius' after Turner,

My words therefore did not reflect my feelings in the least. If the reader has only a faint impression of this, that is because, as narrator, I describe my feelings to him at the same time as repeating my words. But if I were to hide the former from him so that he heard only the latter, my actions, which corresponded so little to my words, would so often give him the impression of strange changes in direction that he would think me almost mad.

This is obviously disloyal, and authors are a pretty low class. Certainly, it would not be a bad thing to meet them once in a way, for thanks to them, when one reads a book or an article, one can 'read between the lines,' 'unmask' the characters. After all, though, the wisest thing is to stick to dead authors.

In reality, every reader, as he reads, is the reader of himself. The work of the writer is only a sort of optic instrument which he offers to the reader so that he may discern in the book what he would probably not have seen in himself.

To my ear, Bergotte's way of speaking was completely different from his way of writing; and even the things he said differed from the things that fill his books. A voice emerges from a mask; unaided, it is not up to showing us immediately a face we have glimpsed naked in a style.

If Albertine's lips were closed, her eyelids, on the other hand, seen from the point at which I was standing, seemed so loosely joined that I might almost have questioned whether she really was asleep. At the same time those drooping lids introduced into her face that perfect continuity, unbroken by any intrusion of eyes. There are people whose faces assume a quite unusual beauty and majesty the moment they cease to look out of their eyes

The truth which one puts into one's words does not make a direct path for itself, is not supported by irresistible evidence.

But the intensity of her mimicry could not fill the place of that light which is absent from our eyes so long as we do not understand what people are talking to us about.

which there was already installed a lady with a massive face, old and ugly, with a masculine expression, very much in her Sunday best, who was reading the Revue des Deux Mondes. Notwithstanding her commonness, she was eclectic in her tastes, and I found amusement in asking myself to what social category she could belong; I at once concluded that she must be the manager of some large brothel, a procuress on holiday. Her face, her manner, proclaimed the fact aloud.

It is I suppose comprehensible that the letters which we receive from a person are more or less similar and combine to trace an image of the writer so different from the person whom we know as to constitute a second personality.

When I talked with any one of my friends I was conscious that the original, the unique portrait of her individuality had been skilfully traced, tyranically imposed on my mind as much by the inflexions of her voice as by those of her face, and that these were two separate spectacles which rendered, each in its own plane, the same single reality.

Se o rosto de uma mulher é dificilmente interpretado pelos nossos olhos, que não podem aplicar-se a toda essa superfície movediça, aos lábios, mais ainda, à memória; se nuvens o alteram conforme sua posição social e conforme a altura em que estamos situados, que cortina mais espessa ainda está corrida entre os atos daquela a quem vemos, e suas razões!

it is that the bulk of what appear to be the emotional renderings of our inmost sensations do no more than relieve us of the burden of those sensations by allowing them to escape from us in an indistinct form which does not teach us how it should be interpreted.

I was struck for the first time by this lack of harmony between our impressions and their normal forms of expression.