Quotes About Curiosity

The reader terrorized by mathematics (persuaded by incompetent teachers that I can't understand that stuff) need not panic.

The only answer I can see is that no speculation is obnoxious to an open mind but all new and challenging speculations are obnoxious to Fundamentalists.

5. James Joyce said he never met a boring human being. Try to explain this. Try to get into the Joycean head space, where everybody is a separate reality-island full of mystery and surprise. In other words, learn to observe.

Orthodoxies of all sorts are maintained by partly the intolerance I have been documenting and partly by — simple lack of curiosity. Heresy is not-tuned-in, if one already has certitude.

I read someplace that wanting to know everything about a person is wanting to possess them." "I believe that is probably true," Susan said.

Do you have a first name, Mr. Spenser'?" Jill said. She had a soft girlish voice with just a hint of huskiness at the edges. I told her my first name.

I called Hawk on his cell phone. "Where are you?" I said. "Not your business," he said. "What are you doing." "Very not your business," he said. "Oh that," I said.

When in doubt do something; and hope that if you keep doing it you'll come to understand what it is.

Sam, what do you think happened?

Rhyme for a Child Viewing a Naked Venus in a Painting of "The Judgement of Paris" He gazed and gazed and gazed and gazed, Amazed, amazed, amazed, amazed.

Non dubito, quip titulus libri nostri raritate suâ quamplurimos alliciat ad legendum: inter quos nonnulli obliquæ opinionis, mente languidi, multi etiam maligni, et in ingenium nostrum ingrati accedent, qui temerariâ suâ ignorantiâ

Gin a body meet a body Coming thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body— Need a body cry?

I have found, Mr. Noir, that if you make a story with gaps in it, people just step in to fill them up, they can't help themselves.

Life does not provide answers, only questions.

Kerri turned each page slowly, lifting the next page and scanning the pictures

Throughout the meal Lucy would grin with the knowledge of her secret, and I would ask, "What?" and she would say, "You'll see." Then everyone stopped looking at Johnny Depp and turned toward the door. Lucy grinned wider, and I looked, too. Joe came over, gliding across the floor as the room parted for him. Tall men in sleeveless sweatshirts and dark glasses and brilliant red tattoos tend to stand out in Spago. Even Johnny Depp was looking.

Jon went back inside, and Googled pictures of Jacob Breslyn. He found a tall young man with a thin face, relaxed smile, and high forehead. Geeky, but growing into himself. An everyday, normal civilian. Jon

Stephanie was still holding his hand, and Scott was wondering what she meant by it when an enormous Bentley sedan appeared at the end of the street, as out of place in this neighborhood as a flying carpet, windows up, smoked glass, not a speck of dust on its gleaming skin. Stephanie

Scott found two discs when he opened the envelope, one labeled Tyler's, the other Club Red. Something about the number of discs bothered him, and then he recalled Melon had logged two discs from Club Red. He wondered why Cowly gave him only one of the Club Red discs, but decided it didn't matter. Scott

Cole's interest was a tell. He wasn't expressing casual curiosity. He was all business, and carried himself like a man with a need to know. Scott didn't like the way Cole's friends were staring, like a couple of lions waiting to pounce. "I'd rather speak alone." "We're good." Cole

The next day I watched TV and read and lay on the couch and stared at my high-vaulted ceiling. Just after noon I showered and shaved and dressed and took a drive over to the County Medical Facility and asked them if I could see Mimi. They said no. I left the front and went around back and tried to sneak in, but a seventy-five-year-old security guard with narrow shoulders and a wide butt caught me and raised hell. It goes like that sometimes.

I glanced at the address. "He lives in Palm Springs?" "Somewhere in L.A., I think. His family has the house in Palm Springs, or it might belong to a friend, but I don't really know. Krista hasn't told me much about him." Old story. The less Krista told her, the less she could criticize. I put the address aside. "Okay.

Meryl Lawrence was in her mid-forties, with sandy hair and the trim, sturdy build of a woman who took care of herself. She wet her lips as she stared at the phone, thinking, and finally glanced up. "What

Not yet, but they made a very interesting offer." Her green eyes were amazing. Absolutely without bottom.