Quotes About Awareness

she tackled the problem of trying to decide how she wanted to live and what was valuable to her. When am I happy and when am I sad and what us the difference? What do I need to know to stay alive? What is true in the world?

If I hadn't trained Lula Ann properly she wouldn't have known to always cross the street and avoid white boys.

At some point in life the world's beauty becomes enough. You don't need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough.

Now I know why Baby Suggs pondered color her last years. She never had time to see, let alone enjoy it before.

You can't protect her every minute.

she needed to confirm its presence. Like the keeper of the lighthouse and the prisoner, she regarded it as a mooring, a checkpoint, some stable visual object that assured her that the world was still there; that this was like and not a dream. That she was alive somewhere, inside, which she acknowledged to be true only because a thing she knew intimately was out there, outside of herself.

It was the first time I knew beautiful. Had imagined it for myself. Beauty was not simply something to behold; it was something one could do.

None of them knew the downright pleasure of enchantment, of not suspecting but knowing the things behind things.

his senses blunted by a permanent awareness of loss

they have the eyes of people who can tell what time it is by the colour of the sky... their eyes do not bite

Funny how you lose sight of some things and memory others.

Algún día irás andando por el camino y oirás o verás algo. Con toda claridad. Y pensarás que eres tú la que está pensando. Una imagen pensada. Pero no. Es cuando tropiezas con un recuerdo que le pertenece a otro.

Somewhere between retina and object, between vision and view, his eyes draw back, hesitate, and hover. At some fixed point in time and space he senses that he need not waste the effort of a glance. He does not see her, because for him there is nothing to see.

She didn't even know she had a neck until Jude remarked on it, or that her smile was anything but the spreading of her lips until he saw it as a small miracle.

Not knowing it was hard; knowing it was harder.

I insist on being shocked. I am never going to become immune. I think that's a kind of failure to see so much of it that you die inside. I want to be surprised and shocked every time.

The righteous look every Negro learned to recognize along with his ma'am's tit. Like a flag hoisted, this righteousness telegraphed and announced the faggot, the whip, the fist, the lie, long before it went public.

I don't think many people appreciate silence or realize that it is as close to music as you can get

At some point in life the world's beauty becomes enough. You don't need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough.

facts can exist without human intelligence, but truth cannot.

Both of those conditions (my own awareness of being a native of a country and an alien in it) are of interest to me as a writer, and I'd like to talk about that expected and perhaps inevitable sense of separatedeness from the culture that pervades the country I live in.

Now I can look at things again because she's here to see them too.

At some point in life the worlds beauty becomes enough. You don't need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough

They were troublesome thoughts, but they wouldn't go away. Under the moon, on the ground, alone, with not even the sound of baying dogs to remind him that he was with other people, his self--the cocoon that was personality--gave way. He could barely see his own hand, and couldn't see his feet. He was only his breath, coming slower now, and his thoughts. The rest of him disappeared. So the thoughts came, unobstructed by other people, by things, even by the sight of himself.