Quotes About Interpretation

and when i try and make a picture of the phrase in my head it just confuses me because an apple in someone's eye doesn't have anything to do with liking someone a lot and it just makes you forget what the person was talking about

Nemám rád normální romány. V normálních románech lidi Ã…â"¢íkají vÄ›ci jako: "Jsem protkána železem, stÃ…â"¢íbrem a žilkami usazenin. Nedokážu se sevÃ…â"¢ít v tvrdou pÄ›st, již zatínají ti, kteÃ…â"¢í jsou nezávislí." Co to znamená? Nevím. Neví to ani táta. Ani Siobhan, ani pan Jeavons. Ptal jsem se jich.

Y cuando miramos las cosas pensamos que estamos simplemente mirándolas desde nuestros ojos como si mirásemos a través de pequeñas ventanas y que hay una persona dentro de nuestra cabeza, pero no es así. Estamos mirando una pantalla dentro de nuestra cabeza, como la pantalla de un ordenador.

I find people confusing. This is for two main reasons. The first main reason is that people do a lot of talking without using any words. Siobhan says that if you raise one eyebrow it can mean lots of different things. It can mean I want to do sex with you and it can also mean I think that what you said was very stupid.

La gente habla mucho sin utilizar ninguna palabra.

The unfolding scene was a semiotician's fantasia.

Only bad actors memorize lines. Good actors are perpetually writing them as they act.

That's writing, huh. What does it do?" "It's like talking, but it makes no sound.

Humanity requires for its understanding and governance not science but art

Connoisseurs of paintings were curiously indifferent about color itself, and were seldom possessed by it. Rather, they possessed it. And they seemed to be easily seated. They were like the gourmets, who had to build castles of their food before they could eat it. They confused beauty and knowledge, passion and expertise.

The best dishes are often those to which the chef adds a personal statement, even when using a very old recipe. As Colette said, use a little alchemy

If we can read it silently, it is not a valid poem: a poem demands pronunciation.

I was born with the ability to see in metaphor.

There is no absolute truth. There is only your own truth. Write honestly, from the heart, and you will reach your readers.

No matter how you describe a protagonist, each reader has a personal vision of that character. Leave room for the reader's imagination.

The interpretation of the observational science has been consistently over-egged to produce alarm.

My books are water; those of the great geniuses is wine. Everybody drinks water.

Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR per G.G., CHIEF OF ORDNANCE

You adapt yourself, Paul Klee said, to the contents of the paintbox. Adapting yourself to the contents of the paintbox, he said, is more important than nature and its study. The painter, in other words, does not fit the paints to the world. He most certainly does not fit the world to himself. He fits himself to the paint. The self is the servant who bears the paintbox and its inherited contents.

When I was quite young I fondly imagined that all foreign languages were codes for English. I thought that "hat," say, was the real and actual name of the thing, but that people in other countries, who obstinately persisted in speaking the code of their forefathers, might use the word "ibu," say, to designate not merely the concept hat, but the English word "hat.

All those things for which we have no words are lost. The mind—the culture—has two little tools, grammar and lexicon: a decorated sand bucket and a matching shovel. With these we bluster about the continents and do all the world's work. With these we try to save our very lives.

The Bible's was an unlikely, movie-set world alongside our world. Light-shot and translucent in the pallid Sunday-school watercolors on the walls, stormy and opaque in the dense and staggering texts they read us placidly, sweet-mouthed and earnest, week after week, this world interleaved our waking world like dream. The

Beauty itself is the language to which we have no key; it is the mute cipher, the cryptogram, the uncracked, unbroken code. And it could be that for beauty, as it turned out to be for French, that there is no key, that "oui" will never make sense in our language but only in its own, and that we need to start all over again, on a new continent, learning the strange syllables one by one.

You don't take a photograph, you make it.