All Things Quotes (page 147)
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Guilt is not a response to anger; it is a response to one's own actions or lack of action. If it leads to change then it can be useful, since it is then no longer guilt but the beginning of knowledge. Yet all too often, guilt is just another name for impotence, for defensiveness destructive of communication; it becomes a device to protect ignorance and the continuation of things the way they are, the ultimate protection for changelessness.
Audre Lorde
My name is growing all the time, and I’ve lived a very long, long time; so my name is like a story. Real names tell you the story of the things they belong to in my language, in the Old Entish as you might say. It is a lovely language, but it takes a very long time to say anything in it, because we do not say anything in it, unless it is worth taking a long time to say, and to listen to.
J. R. R. Tolkien
Take the time to make some sense for what you wanna say, And cast your words away upon the waves. Sail them home with acquiesce on a ship of hope today, And as they land upon the shore, Tell them not to fear no more. I'm not saying right is wrong, It's up to us to make the best of all the things that come our way. Cos' everything that's been has past, The answers in the looking glass. There's four and twenty million doors. On life's endless corridor, So say it loud and sing it proud today.
Noel Gallagher
So many things which once had distressed or revolted him? the speeches and pronouncements of the learned, their assertions and their prohibitions, their refusal to allow the universe to move? all seemed to him now merely ridiculous, non-existent, compared with the majestic reality, the flood of energy, which now revealed itself to him: omnipresent, unalterable in its truth, relentless in its development, untouchable in its serenity, maternal and unfailing in its protectiveness.
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
We all have a world of things inside ourselves and each one of us has his own private world. How can we understand each other if the words I use have the sense and the value that I expect them to have, but whoever is listening to me inevitably thinks that those same words have a different sense and value, because of the private world he has inside himself, too.
Luigi Pirandello
-We live in Rome, he says, turning his face to the room again,-Caligula's Rome, with a new circus of vulgar bestialized suffering in the newspapers every morning. The masses, the fetid masses, he says, bringing all his weight to his feet.-How can they even suspect a self who can do more, when they live under absolutely no obligation. There are so few beautiful things in the world...
William Gaddis
I have been reading Plotinus all evening. He has the power to sooth me; and I find his sadness curiously comforting. Even when he writes: “Life here with the things of earth is a sinking, a defeat, a failure of the wing.” The wing has indeed failed. One sinks. Defeat is certain. Even as I write these lines, the lamp wick sputters to an end, and the pool of light in which I sit contracts. Soon the room will be dark. One has always feared that death would be like this. But what else is...
Gore Vidal
There was no sense to life, to the structure of things. D.H. Lawrence had known that. You needed love, but not the kind of love most people used and were used up by. Old D.H. had known something. His buddy Huxley was just an intellectual fidget, but what a marvelous one. Better than G.B. Shaw with that hard keel of a mind always scraping bottom, his labored wit finally only a task, a burden on himself, preventing him from really feeling anything, his brilliant speech finally a bore, scraping...
Charles Bukowski
Do you really think you can read out my mind?" she asks me, face to face."I think so," I say, wishing to convince myself. "There has to be a way."It is like looking for lost drops of rain in a river."You're wrong. The mind is not like raindrops. It does not lose itself among other things. If you believe in me at all, than believe this: I promise you I will find it. Everything depends on this."I believe you," she whispers after a moment. "Please find my mind.
Haruki Murakami