Best 2585 quotes in «perspective quotes» category

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    Give perspective, to old one, in a new way; and discover.

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    Goals help you look towards the future with anticipation and excitement rather than with anxiety, and when clearly defined and broken into smaller steps, they enable you pay the price needed to achieve your dreams.

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    Goals reveal your path to success, greatness and significance. Become a master goal setter and you will chart the course of your life.

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    Goals are the result of bringing your dreams, ideas, and ideals into a real and examinable form by giving them permanence in written form.

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    GOD made you a masterpiece, stop treating yourself like a shattered piece.

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    GON. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green! ANT. The ground indeed is tawny. SEB. With an eye of green in 't. ANT. He misses not much. SEB. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.

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    Good mentors and coaches will help you reach your destination faster than you can by yourself.

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    Gratitude magnifies the sweet parts of life and diminishes the painful ones.

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    Greatness is achieved when you fulfil your purpose by doing what you were born to do.

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    Hallucinations aren’t always out of the ordinary. How do we know we’re not hallucinating if everything seems plausible?

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    Hard work without purpose seldom leads to success.

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    Have you decided how great you want to be? It’s really up to you. Greatness is a choice.

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    Having problems is not nearly as tormenting as being had by problems.

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    Having a nice library doesn’t make you smart. Don’t buy books and stack them up in your library; read them.

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    He found his irritation that the American memory could be short.

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    He did something he rarely did. He decided not to see things from the other guy's point of view.

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    He hasn’t really seen you, not as you want to be seen, but he’s starting to, a little.

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    He had refused fancy clothes or makeup for this interview. His philosophy was that death should to be embarrassing; he was not about to powder its nose.

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    He realized suddenly that it was one thing to see the past occupying the present, but the true test of prescience was to see the past in the future. Things persisted in not being what they seemed.

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    Her action in defending Marcão meant one thing to him and something quite different to her; it was so different that it was not even the same event.

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    He had no ideal world of dead heroes; he knew little of the life of men in the past; he must find the beings to whom he could cling with loving admiration among those who came within speech of him.

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    Her faith was a conscious decision, a hard earned achievement, constantly evolving to deal with her family's agnosticism and her own bisexuality. I wore my own faith like the shirt I fell asleep in because I was too lazy to change.

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    Here there was no monster greater than the ragged mountains.

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    Her father was stern. Her father disapproved. Her father had very strong reservations...Half Belgian, half Persian, staunch British conservative, he'd seen the Himalayas and Harrogate and had chosen accountancy.

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    Her hands warming on tea looked like chunks of knitting a child had felted in grubby palms. Enough decades, and a body slowly twists into one great cramp, but there was a time once, where she had been sexy, and if not sexy, at least odd-looking enough to compel. Through this clear window she could see how good it all had been. She had no regrets. That's not true, Mathilde. The whisper in the ear. Oh, Christ, yes, there was one. Solitary, gleaming, a regret. It was that all her life she had said no. From the beginning she had let so few people in. That first night, his young face glowing up a hers in the black light, bodies beating the air around them, and inside there was that unexpected sharp recognition, oh, this. A sudden peace arriving for her. She who hadn't been at peace since she was so little. Out of nowhere, out of this surprising night with its shatters of lightning and the stormy black campus outside, with the heat and song and sex and animal fear inside. He had seen her and made the leap and swung through the crowd and taken her hand, this bright boy who was giving her a place to rest. He offered not only his whole laughing self, the past that build him and the warm beating body that moved her with its beauty and the future she felt compressed and waiting, but also the torch he carried before him in the dark, his understanding, dazzling, instant, that there was goodness at her core. With the gift came the bitter seed of regret, the unbridgeable gap between the Mathilde she was and the Mathilde he had seen her to be. A question, in the end, of vision. She wished she'd been the kind Mathilde, the good one, his idea of her. She would have looked smiling down at him, she would've heard beyond marry me to the world that spun behind the words. There would have been no pause, no hesitation. She would've laughed, touched his face for the first time, felt his warmth in the palm of her hand. 'Yes,' she would've said. 'Sure.

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    Her logic was a combination of half-truths and clichés, her worldview a compound of misconceptions deriving from a history of our nation as written from the perspective of a subway tunnel.

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    Here march the eaters of earth, the swallowers of rain.

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    Hertzfeld recalled that Gates just sat there coolly, looking at Steve in the eye, before hurling back, in his squeaky voice, what became a classic zinger. "Well, Steve, I think there's more than one way of looking at it, I think it's more like we both had this rich neighbor named Xerox and I broke into his house to steal the TV set and found out that you had already stolen it.

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    He said that when you want to change things, you can't please everyone. If you do please everyone, you aren't making enough progress. Mark was right.

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    He trusted the cosmos – but not necessarily the powers that held sway on earth.

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    He wanted the show to be fresh to audiences 50 years down the line.

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    He was as bold as a lion about it, and 'mightily convinced' not only himself, but everybody that heard him;—but then his idea of a fugitive was only an idea of the letters that spell the word,—or at the most, the image of a little newspaper picture of a man with a stick and bundle, with "Ran away from the subscriber" under it. The magic of the real presence of distress,—the imploring human eye, the frail, trembling human hand, the despairing appeal of helpless agony,—these he had never tried. He had never thought that a fugitive might be a hapless mother, a defenseless child,—like that one which was now wearing his lost boy's little well-known cap; and so, as our poor senator was not stone or steel,—as he was a man, and a downright noble-hearted one, too,—he was, as everybody must see, in a sad case for his patriotism.

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    He was experienced enough to spot the downside of doing the right thing.

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    He wasn’t my boyfriend, but he was something. Someone who made a positive impact on my life regardless of the negative. He changed my perspective for the better and made me who I am in this very second. I appreciate, cherish, and thank him for it; and I will for this life and into any life that may come.

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    He was "more passionate than most intelligent men, and more intelligent and reasoned than most passionate men.

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    He wasn’t a good person, but I painted him to be and since I painted it, I believed it.

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    He was not at all what is called ‘a character’. He was an innocent, affable old man who had somehow preserved his good humor – much more than that, a mysterious and tranquil joy – throughout a life which to all outward observation had been overloaded with misfortune. He had like many another been born in full sunlight and lived to see night fall.

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    He was still on his “two Van Goghs” point. He put his hand on the armrest of her chair. He said, “But the second Van Gogh is just a guy named Vincent. Vincent lived for thirty-seven years. Van Gogh only came to life after Vincent died. Same man, two people.

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    He who sits/stands in front of the fire sees more than the flames.. He feels the heat! Too often from a distance others observe the flames only as a source of light.

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    He [Wordsworth] invited his readers to abandon their usual perspective and to consider for a time how the world might look through other eyes, to shuttle between the human and the natural perspective. Why might this be interesting, or even inspiring? Perhaps because unhappiness can stem from only having one perspective to play with.

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    He would get up and go out into a world which seemed very unfamiliar, but with a tantalizing unfamiliarity like the world of boyhood to which an old man returns.

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    He would sit down and consider the situation carefully. Not only did this help to identify the solution to the problem, but it also gave him the opportunity to remind himself that things were not really as bad as they seemed; it was all a question of perspective. Sitting down and looking up at the sky for a few minutes--not at any particular part of the sky, but just at the sky in general--at the vast, dizzying, empty sky of Botswana, cut human problems down to size.

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    High school games would just as big a deal to me as any major league game.

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    His constant references to the ancient world have the effect of giving ordinary soldiers a sense of their lives.

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    History Depicts the Events Happened; the way we Perceive makes the difference

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    Historians are not scientists. They cannot (and should not even trying to) establish universal laws of social or political "physics" with reliable predictive powers. Why? Because there is no possibility of repeating the single, multi-millennium experiment that constant to the past. The sample size of human history is one.

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    History is boring, unless you see it from the right perspective. perspective is important. Corn growing in a field appears orderless, till one turns the corner and sees the rows line up. a pixelized photo is unrecognizable, till one zooms out. All the the numbers are on a combination lock but it will not open till they are in the right sequence. So it is with history - all the names, dates and places are there, but it is not until they are seen from the right perspective that lessons become clear. history is boring, until it comes into focus.

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    Historical revisionists find what they set out to find.

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    History is the preceptor of prudence, not principles.

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    Hope is when we have a beautiful vision of something and a positive emotion to go along with it. When our world comes crashing down, when we are trapped in a deep, dark, despairing hopelessness, we need a bigger perspective. Hope comes when we reflect on all that we hold dear and true, when we acknowledge a higher power, when we acknowledge God in our lives and begin to see what He has planned for our lives.