Quotes About Curiosity

Pollock once paid a fortune for a Picasso drawing, then erased it in order to see how it was made.

Dammit, I gotta go," Clint rasped. He slid off the bed, and faltered. His gown bunched at the waist and Greer looked away, but not before glimpsing something she knew she could never unsee.

To be curious about someone opened you to contamination from them. But she was still determined to play him a trick, to take a revenge for Kay, for women, and most of all for the impudence of his associating himself with her. She had no pity for Harald. Swinging the car into line behind the funeral procession, she waited for the question he would ask. "To be superior," he said, "of course, is not only a prerequisite for tragedy; it is tragedy. Hamlet's tragedy.

Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers. Let me keep company always with those who say Look! and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads.

A dog can never tell you what she knows from the smells of the world, but you know, watching her, that you know almost nothing.

Though I play at the edges of knowing, truly I know our part is not knowing, but looking, and touching, and loving

You're like a little wild thing that was never sent to school.

When it's over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers.

As for the body, it is solid and strong and curious and full of detail: it wants to polish itself; it wants to love another body; it is the only vessel in the world that can hold, in a mix of power and sweetness: words, song, gesture, passion, ideas, ingenuity, devotion, merriment, vanity, and virtue.

Let me keep company always with those who say "Look!" and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads.

that your spirit grow in curiosity, that your life be richer than it is, that you bow to the earth as you feel how it actually is, that we—so clever, and ambitious, and selfish, and unrestrained— are only one design of the moving, the vivacious many.

When death comes…. I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what it's going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

How can we ever stop looking? How can we ever turn away?

As a child, what captivated me was reading the poems myself and realizing that there was a world without material substance which was nevertheless as alive as any other.

But the palace of knowledge is different from the palace of discovery, in which I am, truly, a Copernicus.

I learned to build bookshelves and brought books to my room, gathering them around me thickly. I read by day and into the night. I thought about perfectibility, and deism, and adjectives, and clouds, and then foxes. I locked my door, from the inside, and leaped from the roof and went to the woods, by day or darkness.

What lay on the road was no mere handful of snake. It was the copperhead at last, golden under the street lamp. I hope to see everything in this world before I die.

Still, what I want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled — to cast aside the weight of facts and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world. I want to believe I am looking into the white fire of a great mystery. Poem: The Ponds

Percy (One) Our new dog, named for the beloved poet, ate a book which unfortunately we had    left unguarded. Fortunately it was the Bhagavad Gita, of which many copies are available. Every day now, as Percy grows into the beauty of his life, we touch his wild, curly head and say, "Oh, wisest of little dogs.

Everyone now and again wonders about those questions that have no ready answers: first cause, God's existence, what happens when the curtain goes down and nothing stops it, not kissing, not going to the mall, not the Super Bowl. Wild roses, I said to them one morning. Do you have the answers? And if you do, would you tell me? The roses laughed softly. Forgive us, they said. But as you can see, we are just now entirely busy being roses.

I want the poem to ask something and, at its best moments, I want the question to remain unanswered.

The World I Live In I have refused to live locked in the orderly house of reasons and proofs. The world I live in and believe in is wider than that. And anyway, what's wrong with Maybe? You wouldn't believe what once or twice I have seen. I'll just tell you this: only if there are angels in your head will you ever, possibly, see one.