Best 1434 quotes in «perfection quotes» category

You forgot to cough!” he said. “Sorry.” She coughed. “Your sneakiness is dangerous. Next time that chisel will lodge itself in my head.” “Now, Peder, there’s plenty of stone around here for carving. No need to practice on your own face.” He stroked his chin. “You’re right, my jaw is already chiseled to perfection.” She agreed, but she felt too silly to say so aloud.

You hit a guitar, you hit a note, you hit a drum, you hit an organ. Meat and potatoes. Simplicity. Not getting too caught up in little tweezers of perfection.

You know one of the causes of modern despair is the fact that we have had proposed to us, from various quarters, an impossible perfection.

You know you've achieved perfection in design, not when you have nothing more to add, but when you have nothing more to take away.

You'll see more and more perfection of that - computer as servant. But the next thing is going to be computer as a guide or agent.

Young friends, do not hesitate to follow the example of Pedro, who 'pleased God and was loved by him' and who, having come to perfection in so short a time, lived a full life.

You're a Daniels and a Walker. That means you're 99% fine stubbornness, tenacity and resilience combined", Tara said. "And the other 1%?" Mia asked as they sat at the tiny galley table. Ford wrapped an arm around her neck and pulled her in close. "Perfection.

Your job is not to be perfect, your job is only to be human.

Your generosity is more important than your perfection.

You've got to put a lot of hard work in and it's not just in the swimming pool. You've got to look after yourself, you've got to sleep well and you've got to recover between the sessions, whether that's resting or getting the right food inside you. I always try to get the best out of myself and strive for perfection.

You see a fleeting perfection of form merging with a significant substance, and you make a clicking noise only a hair's breadth away. You have judged something, reported something, ostensibly truthfully... And when you made a clicking noise you said something eloquently if you are skilled.

Youth would be too happy, might it add to its own beauty and felicity the wisdom and experience of riper years. Were it possible for it to realize the worth of time, as life's receding hours reveal it, how rapidly would it press on towards perfection!

You want perfection, go to a bowling alley!

You stand your ground and you perform your art. That's what the artist does. The artist is about perfection.

A dense, artistic kind of imperfection stimulates your consciousness, keeps you alert. If I listen to some utterly perfect performance of an utterly perfect piece while I'm driving, I might want to close my eyes and die right then and there. But listening to the D major, I can feel the limits of what humans are capable of-- that a certain type of perfection can only be realised through a limitless accumulation of imperfect.

Absolute perfection is insidious.

...adopt the "practice makes progress" approach

He had all the attributes of a perfect man, and, in my opinion, no finer personality ever existed. {Edison's opinion of the great Robert Ingersoll}

A host of tutelary deities must be waiting upon her on all sides, for her performance displayed perfection. Her appearance had thrown magic upon us. Her dance held us all in thrall.

Ah, youth! It was a beautiful night... The moon was out of orbit. The stars were awry. But everything else was exactly as it should have been.

Ah, woman. She is an enigma. An anomaly of perfection & irony. She can lure angels into her arms & give birth to a nation of ideologies.

Alexander moved her off him, laid her down, was over her, was pressed into her, crushing her. Anthony was right there, he didn't care, he was trying to inhale her, trying to absorb her into himself. "All this time you were stepping out in front of me, Tatiana," he said. "Now I finally understand. You hid me on Bethel Island for eight months. For two years you hid me and deceived me - to save me. I am such an idiot," he whispered. "Wretch or not, ravaged or not, in a carapace or not, there you still were, stepping out for me, showing the mute mangled stranger your brave and indifferent face." Her eyes closed, her arms tightened around his neck. "That stranger is my life," she whispered. They crawled away from Anthony, from their only bed, onto a blanket on the floor, barricading themselves behind the table and chairs. "You left our boy to go find me, and this is what you found..." Alexander whispered, on top of her, pushing inside her, searching for peace. Crying out underneath him, Tatiana clutched his shoulders. "This is what you brought back from Sachsenhausen." his movement was tense, deep, needful. Oh God. Now there was comfort. "You thought you were bringing back him, but Tania, you brought back me." "Shura...you'll have to do..." Her fingers were clamped into his scars. "In you," said Alexander, lowering his lips to her parted mouth and cleaving their flesh, "are the answers to all things." All the rivers flowed into the sea and still the sea was not full.

Robert Ingersoll's character was as nearly perfect as it is possible for the character of mortal man to be... none sweeter or nobler had ever blessed the world. The example of his life was of more value to posterity than all the sermons that were ever written on the doctrine of original sin... The genius for humor and wit and satire of a Voltaire, a wide amplitude of imagination, and a greatness of heart and brain that placed him upon an equal footing with the greatest thinkers of antiquity. He stands, at the close of his career, the first great reformer of the age. {Thomas' words at the funeral of the great Robert Ingersoll}

All these things we do bespeak a terrible anxiety: that our children simply will not be able to make it through life if we do not perform totemic acts to keep them on the path toward self-perfection and keep their lives pure and unfettered by distracting emotion, personality foibles, or less-than-ideal experiences.

Allow me an apology to Keats and Grecian Urns everywhere: Though I agree that Truth is beautiful, it is Perfection that is Beauty itself.

All seek perfection from our parents … Just wait till your parents start depending on you, that is when your own perfection, or lack thereof, will be apparent.

A lot of teenagers today are influenced by the media’s depiction of perfection. I want readers to understand they don’t have to follow the unofficial laws society creates, to be liked by others.

And so you prefer her faults to other people’s perfections?

And it's almost too perfect. Almost too Disney.

A man is more or less of a Christian only in proportion to the speed with which he advances towards infinite perfection, irrespective of the stage he may have reached at a given moment. Hence the stationary righteousness of the Pharisee is worth less than the progress of the repentant thief on the cross.

And I wasn’t playing a role – I was trying to be myself. But the harder I was striving, the more I was realizing that I had probably lost that ‘myself’ somewhere between two perfectly performed roles...

And observe, you are put to stern choice in this matter. You must either make a tool of the creature, or a man of him. You cannot make both. Men were not intended to work with the accuracy of tools, to be precise and perfect in all their actions. If you will have that precision out of them, and make their fingers measure degrees like cogwheels, and their arms strike curves like compasses, you must unhumanize them. All the energy of their spirits must be given to make cogs and compasses of themselves....On the other hand, if you will make a man of the working creature, you cannot make a tool. Let him but begin to imagine, to think, to try to do anything worth doing; and the engine-turned precision is lost at once. Out come all his roughness; all his dullness, all his incapability; shame upon shame, failure upon failure, pause after pause: but out comes the whole majesty of him also, and we know the height of it only, when we see the clouds settling upon him.

An educated person's ideas of Art are drwan naturally from what Art has been, whereas the new work of art is beautiful by being what Art has never been; and to measure it by the standard of the past is to measure it by a standard on the rejection of which its real perfection depends.

An entrepreneur is not deterred by his lack of perfection, he knows no one else is

An exceptional woman with all the desired qualities exists only in a man's imagination.

An imperfect creative expression is much more sensible and creative than a grammatically perfect expression without an iota of sense and value in it.

A perfectly normal person is rare in our civilization.

Any work is always improvable, you cannot really finish the work, you can only abandon it out of tiredness or incompetence.

As we try to achieve perfection, society changes and we just become more imperfect

Art is a journey of excellence not a goal of perfection.

As in diamonds so in batting, perfection requires flawlessness and nowhere is a batting imperfection more quickly recognised than in the dropped catch. For this reason any innings worthy of consideration deserves to have all its flaws studied to establish whether or not it is the genuine gem or just masquerading as one under the glitter of big hitting or weight of runs.

As the High Priestess looked down upon the child, she was struck by her holy perfection. She was a tiny person in miniature, and her beautiful eyes, little hands, and long eyelashes were sublime.

AS WE LAY THERE WE FELT LIKE WE WERE EXTENSTIONS OF EACH OTHER, LIKE OUR BODIES AND OUR HEARTS HAD TO BE TOGETHER TO MAKE ONE WHOLE PERFECT PERSON.

A technically perfect photograph can be the world's most boring picture.

A truly good book is something as natural, and as unexpectedly and unaccountably fair and perfect, as a wild flower discovered on the prairies of the West or in the jungles of the East. Genius is a light which makes the darkness visible, like the lightning’s flash, which perchance shatters the temple of knowledge itself,--and not a taper lighted at the hearth-stone of the race, which pales before the light of common day.

A rose does not lose its beauty because it is covered with thorns.

Art is the product of an imperfect world. In a perfect world, art would not exist.

As theologians, we must say more than we can be in the hope that others will make us more than we are. What is crucial is that we not write to justify the limits of our lives.

Autumn brings the picturesque harmony of perfection.

A young woman stood before the railing, speaking to the reception clerk. Her slender body seemed out of all scale in relation to a normal human body; its lines were so long, so fragile, so exaggerated that she looked like a stylized drawing of a woman and made the correct proportions of a normal being appear heavy and awkward beside her. She wore a plain gray suit; the contrast between its tailored severity and her appearance was deliberately exorbitant—and strangely elegant.She let the finger tips of one hand rest on the railing, a narrow hand ending the straight imperious line of her arm. She had gray eyes that were not ovals, but two long, rectangular cuts edged by parallel lines of lashes; she had an air of cold serenity and an exquisitely vicious mouth. Her face, her pale gold hair, her suit seemed to have no color, but only a hint, just on the verge of the reality of color, making the full reality seem vulgar. Keating stood still, because he understood for the first time what it was that artists spoke about when they spoke of beauty.