Best 1516 quotes in «reflection quotes» category

I miss those times when I hadn't a clue.

I’m saving my free time for when I am dead; I figured I will need a lot of time in the next life to reflect on what the fuck is wrong with this life.

I'm Tiny And My Reach Is Limited. I Can Give YOU Only What I Have And Surely When I Give, I Don't Keep Anything For Me. To YOU, It's Nothing Probably As YOU've Got Everything. My Everything Would Be Unnoticed. It Seems Like "A Rain Drop To The Ocean".... (From The Romantic Story "Reflection of The Rainbow")....

I'm trapped in my mind and I know it's crazy Hey, it's not that bad at all

In an age that valued prolonged and detailed exposition, complexity, and repetition it was astonishing that Luther should have instinctively discerned the value of brevity.

In a very real way, then, materials are a reflection of who we are, a multi-scale expression of our human need and desires.

In a polished surface of metal I happen to notice my reflected face; it wears a pale, beaten lonely look, eyes looking out at nothing with an expression of fear, frightened and lonely in a nightmare world. Something, I don’t know what, makes me think of my childhood; I remember myself as a schoolchild sitting at a hard wooden desk, and then as a little girl with thick, fair, wind-tossed hair, feeding the swans in a park. And it seems both strange and sad to me that all those childish years were spent in preparation for this – that, forgotten by everybody, with a beaten face, I should serve machinery in a place far away from the sun.

Increasingly, people feel as though they must have a reason for taking time alone, a reason not to be available.

Industrial liquid gas containers were left open and venting gas into the indoor environment in high altitude astronomy. On reflection, I realized that I routinely observed mental and physical effects that match those of a low oxygen environment in staff that I supervised.

In each of the early surahs, God spoke intimately to the individual, often preferring to pose many of his teachings in the form of a question - 'Have you not heard?' 'Do you consider?' 'Have you not seen?'. Each listener was thus invited to interrogate him or herself. Any response to these queries was usually grammatically ambiguous or indefinite, leaving the audience with an image on which to meditate but with no decisive answer. This new religion was not about achieving metaphysical certainty; the Quran wanted people to develop a different kind of awarness.

I needed someone to talk to, but there was no one in particular I wanted to talk to. That's the best definition of loneliness I know.

I never understood what Jaime saw in you, apart from his own reflection.

In every story there is a silence, some sight concealed, some word unspoken, I believe. Till we have spoken the unspoken we have not come to the heart of the story.

Infatuated painted clouds, enamored of our silky bed-lagoon, reflect with silent tremors your sweetest of the kisses...whispers...then lightly consume its shining sunset skin with loving smiles greeting the lacy starry night ahead...making our senses dance so softly stepping on to the adorn petals of the place no one else knows...

In his life he too, like all people, had harboured ideas and dreams. Some he had fulfilled for himself; some had been granted to him. Many things had remained out of reach, or barely had he reached them than they were torn from his hands again. But he was still here. And in the mornings after the first snowmelt, when he walked across the dew-soaked meadow outside his hut and lay down on one of the flat rocks scattered there, the cool stone at his back and the first warm rays of sun on his face, he felt that many things had not gone so badly after all.

in misty beauty never before seen, sweet sounds of a forest so serene, embracing and peaceful, so fresh and clean as birds songs are whispering their routine. those reflections gleam in the aquamarine... morning light glowing on your leaves so pristine, so angelic, so ageless and always evergreen, dance with me, my lady, my love, my queen

In the beginning there was faith-which is childish; trust-which is vain; and illusion-which is dangerous. We believed in God; trusted in man, and lived with the illusion that every one of us has been entrusted with a sacred spark from the Shekhinah's flame; that every one of us carries in his eyes and in his soul a reflection of God's image. THAT was the source if not the cause of all our ordeals.

In reading, friendship is restored immediately to its original purity. With books there is no forced sociability. If we pass the evening with those friends—books—it’s because we really want to. When we leave them, we do so with regret and, when we have left them, there are none of those thoughts that spoil friendship: “What did they think of us?”—“Did we make a mistake and say something tactless?”—“Did they like us?”—nor is there the anxiety of being forgotten because of displacement by someone else. All such agitating thoughts expire as we enter the pure and calm friendship of reading.

Insult is the reflection of pride or jealous

In the last few months, perhaps because he has had no one to speak to -- or at least no interlocutor who can respond with actual out-loud speech -- he has learned how to let different parts of his mind and heart speak within him as if they were different souls with their own arguments.

In the heart of appeasement there's the fear of rejection, and in acts of fear there are mirrors of oppression.

In the morning After taking cold shower —-what a mistake—- I look at the mirror. There, a funny guy, Grey hair, white beard, wrinkled skin, —-what a pity—- Poor, dirty, old man, He is not me, absolutely not. Land and life Fishing in the ocean Sleeping in the desert with stars Building a shelter in the mountains Farming the ancient way Singing with coyotes Singing against nuclear war— I’ll never be tired of life. Now I’m seventeen years old, Very charming young man. I sit quietly in lotus position, Meditating, meditating for nothing. Suddenly a voice comes to me: “To stay young, To save the world, Break the mirror.

Introspective reflections that might otherwise be liable to stall are helped along by the flow of the landscape...

In the shade of words sits life itself.

I stood in my garden as the rain poured down, eyes closed, and when I opened them I thought to myself how I'd never seen anything more beautiful. Green flashed before my eyes; trees, leaves and grass, glittering with raindrops, the tears of angels weeping with sadness and joy; green, the colour of love, to remind me why I'm here.

I pretend to be stupid to reveal your cockiness, I pretend to be helpless to reveal your selfishness, I pretend to be annoying to reveal your patience, I pretend to be vulnerable to reveal your kindliness, Every action I take has a purpose, Every action you take divulges what you truly are.

Ir à lua e voltar não é tão desafiador quanto retornar à terra e ter de lidar com a humanidade.

Is it a rare gift to gain new insight on past events? Or a curse, being forced to rehash things no longer within one's control?

Is that the secret meaning of the word story, do you think: a storing place of memories?

Is Wisdom derived from the accumulation of one's experiences, or rather one's thoughtful reflection upon what he has learned throughout the process?

I steadied by guitar against the table, and steadied myself with it. And forgot every rule I had ever known.

...it had probably been a long enough life. Yet suddenly it all seemed like an illusion, a dream that had happened to someone else. What an odd thing existence was.

It is funny how different mirrors reveal different aspects, it must be like people you meet, you get to prefer the ones who show an image of you that you like.

I think this is one bad side of a mirror; it helps us to see the reflection of the effects of our own actions on ourselves. We smile and it smiles back to us, we frown and it frowns to us. How I wish it shows us the reflections of the effects of our actions on other people as well so that we will be conscious!

I thought of all the hardships and people that I had lost in the past few days alone, but, most of all, I thought of how I didn't regret any of it.

It is in the quiet moments of reflection that we can gain a greater feeling of hope when we remember and recognize all the positive things that are happening during this time of great difficulty.

It is never wise to run any race but your own.

It is necessary to monitor your behavior if you wish to change it. Awareness is essential.

It is the final person we see reflected in our eyes that really matters; we wonder who is she and why is she here? To find ourselves truly, it is the goal we have all set for ourselves.

It is perhaps, plausible that a man in this situation, impressed with the unconcern of the universe, should see the innumerable flaws of his life and have them taste wickedly in his mind and wish for another chance.

It is the reflection of my face. Often in these lost days I study it: I can understand nothing of this face. The faces of others have some sense, some direction. Not mine. I cannot even decide whether it is handsome or ugly. I think it is ugly because I have been told so. But it doesn't strike me. At heart, I am even shocked that anyone can attribute qualities of this kind to it, as if you called a clod of earth or a block of stone beautiful or ugly.

I took the sleeper out of Glasgow, and as the smelly old train bumped out of Central Station and across the Jamaica Street Bridge, I stared out at the orange halogen streetlamps reflected in the black water of the river Clyde. I gazed at the crumbling Victorian buildings that would soon be sandblasted and renovated into yuppie hutches. I watched the revelers and rascals traverse the shiny wet streets. I thought of the thrill and danger of my youth and the fear and frustration of my adult life thus far. I thought of the failure of my marriage and my failures as a man. I saw all this through my reflection in the nighttime window. Down the tracks I went, hardly aware that I was going further south with every passing second.

It is within the boundaries of reflection we are able to become aware of insights that can lead us to understanding.

It is worth remembering that the fire we feed may come to burn us.

It's a way of clearing the palate. Kids come into the classroom with all this other stuff in their hands. If they write it down for 10 minutes they become much more available for whatever it is we want to do in the class.

IT'S CURIOUS THAT A RED EMBER LOOKS MORE ALIVE, GIVES YOU MORE OF A FEELING OF LIFE THAN ANY LIVING THING.

It’s not possible to move from one activity to the next at blinding speed and be reflective at the same time. The more complex and demanding the work we do, the wider, deeper and longer the perspective we require to do it well. It’s almost impossible to do that when we create no white space in our lives.

It seems to me that when you look back at a life - yours or another's - what you see is a path that weaves into and out of deep shadow. So much is lost. What we use to construct the past is what has remained in the open, a hodgepodge of fleeting glimpses. Our histories, like my father's current body, are structures built of toothpicks. So what I recall of that last summer in New Bremen is a construct of both what stands in the light and what I imagine in the dark where I cannot see.

It's hard to look at it like that, isn't it? Because if you can be a better parent than the ones you had, you have to face the fact that your parents had that choice too. If you're not fated to be an awful parent, they weren't either. And," I said feeling my throat tighten, "it's easier to believe that we're all just [f*'d] than it is to know there are choices." I rubbed my hands together to try to get my fingers to warm up. "It hurts less to think they couldn't have done any better than they did, doesn't it?

It's only when you stop to think about it. I don't stop. - From "Morning