Subtly Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
a-lot-of-my-music-is-slow-and-subtle-the-subtly-is-what-i-enjoy-about-making-music
when-a-writer-knows-home-in-his-heart-his-heart-must-remain-subtly-apart-from-it-he-must-always-be-a-stranger-to-the-place-he-loves-and-its-people
happy-hanukkah-to-someone-spending-eight-days-subtly-trying-to-conceal-their-judaism
marsala-enriches-our-mind-body-soul-exuding-confidence-stability-marsala-is-subtly-seductive-shade-one-that-draws-us-in-to-its-embracing-warmth-leatrice-eiseman
grace-is-not-strange-magic-substance-which-is-subtly-filtered-into-our-souls-to-act-as-kind-spiritual-penicillin-grace-is-unity-oneness-within-thomas-merton
the-armour-falsehood-is-subtly-wrought-out-darkness-hides-man-not-only-from-others-but-from-his-own-soul-e-m-forster
a-responsible-woman-guides-controls-albeit-subtly-directs-with-superior-knowledge-that-is-higher-than-that-her-contemporaries-jaachynma-ne-agu
the-trees-show-definitions-themselves-subtly-like-face-man-daniel-j-rice
Was it wisdom? Was it knowledge? Was it, once more, the deceptiveness of beauty, so that all one's perceptions, half-way to truth, were tangled in a golden mesh? Or did she lock up within her some secret which certainly Lily Briscoe believed people must have for the world to go on at all? Every one could not be as helter skelter, hand to mouth as she was. But if they knew, could they tell one what they knew? Sitting on the floor with her arms round Mrs. Ramsay's knees, close as she could get, smiling to think that Mrs. Ramsay would never know the reason of that pressure, she imagined how in the chambers of the mind and heart of the woman who was, physically, touching her, were stood, like the treasures in the tombs of kings, tablets bearing sacred inscriptions, which if one could spell them out, would teach one everything, but they would never be offered openly, never made public. What art was there, known to love or cunning, by which one pressed through into those secret chambers? What device for becoming, like waters poured into one jar, inextricably the same, one with the object one adored? Could the body achieve, or the mind, subtly mingling in the intricate passages of the brain? or the heart? Could loving, as people called it, make her and Mrs. Ramsay one? for it was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge, she had thought, leaning her head on Mrs. Ramsay's knee.

Virginia Woolf
was-it-wisdom-was-it-knowledge-was-it-once-more-deceptiveness-beauty-that-all-ones-perceptions-halfway-to-truth-were-tangled-in-golden-mesh-or-did-she-lock-up-within-her-some-sec
i-see-no-justice-in-that-plan-who-said-lashed-out-isaac-penn-that-you-man-can-always-perceive-justice-who-said-that-justice-is-what-you-imagine-can-you-be-sure-that-you-know-it-w
and-then-theres-perverse-joy-subtly-working-in-references-to-marathon-training-in-daily-life-say-at-post-office-while-waiting-outside-my-firstgraders-classrooms-at-end-school-day
in-vineyard-haven-on-marthas-vineyard-mostly-i-love-soft-collision-here-harbor-shore-subtly-haunting-briny-quality-that-all-small-towns-have-when-they-are-situated-on-sea-william
I began to see that the stronger a therapy emphasized feelings, self-esteem, and self-confidence, the more dependent the therapist was upon his providing for the patient ongoing, unconditional, positive regard. The more self-esteem was the end, the more the means, in the form of the patient's efforts, had to appear blameless in the face of failure. In this paradigm, accuracy and comparison must continually be sacrificed to acceptance and compassion; which often results in the escalation of bizarre behavior and bizarre diagnoses. The bizarre behavior results from us taking credit for everything that is positive and assigning blame elsewhere for anything negative. Because of this skewed positive-feedback loop between our judged actions and our beliefs, we systematically become more and more adapted to ourselves, our feelings, and our inaccurate solitary thinking; and less and less adapted to the environment that we share with our fellows. The resultant behavior, such as crying, depression, displays of temper, high-risk behavior, or romantic ventures, or abandonment of personal responsibilities, which seem either compulsory, necessary, or intelligent to us, will begin to appear more and more irrational to others. The bizarre diagnoses occur because, in some cases, if a 'cause disease' (excuse from blame) does not exist, it has to be 'discovered' (invented). Psychiatry has expanded its diagnoses of mental disease every year to include 'illnesses' like kleptomania and frotteurism [now frotteuristic disorder in the DSM-V]. (Do you know what frotteurism is? It is a mental disorder that causes people, usually men, to surreptitiously fondle women's breasts or genitals in crowded situations such as elevators and subways.) The problem with the escalation of these kinds of diagnoses is that either we can become so adapted to our thinking and feelings instead of our environment that we will become dissociated from the whole idea that we have a problem at all; or at least, the more we become blameless, the more we become helpless in the face of our problems, thinking our problems need to be 'fixed' by outside help before we can move forward on our own. For 2, 000 years of Western culture our problems existed in the human power struggle constantly being waged between our principles and our primal impulses. In the last fifty years we have unprincipled ourselves and become what I call 'psychologized.' Now the power struggle is between the 'expert' and the 'disorder.' Since the rise of psychiatry and psychology as the moral compass, we don't talk about moral imperatives anymore, we talk about coping mechanisms. We are not living our lives by principles so much as we are living our lives by mental health diagnoses. This is not working because it very subtly undermines our solid sense of self.

A.B. Curtiss
i-began-to-see-that-stronger-therapy-emphasized-feelings-selfesteem-selfconfidence-more-dependent-therapist-was-upon-his-providing-for-patient-ongoing-unconditional-positive-rega
and-now-we-who-are-writing-women-strange-monsters-still-search-our-hearts-to-find-difficult-answers-still-hope-that-we-may-learn-to-lay-our-hands-more-gently-more-subtly-on-burni
p15-our-advanced-technological-society-is-rapidly-making-objects-us-subtly-programming-us-into-conformity-to-logic-its-system-to-degree-that-this-happens-we-are-also-becoming-sub
What infinite heart's-ease Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy! And what have kings, that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony? And what art thou, thou idle ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? What are thy rents? what are thy comings in? O ceremony, show me but thy worth! What is thy soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree and form, Creating awe and fear in other men? Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd Than they in fearing. What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, And bid thy ceremony give thee cure! Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out With titles blown from adulation? Will it give place to flexure and low bending? Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee, Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, That play'st so subtly with a king's repose; I am a king that find thee, and I know 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, The farced title running 'fore the king, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world, No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, Not all these, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread; Never sees horrid night, the child of hell, But, like a lackey, from the rise to set Sweats in the eye of Phoebus and all night Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn, Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse, And follows so the ever-running year, With profitable labour, to his grave: And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. The slave, a member of the country's peace, Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, Whose hours the peasant best advantages.

William Shakespeare
what-infinite-heartsease-must-kings-neglect-that-private-men-enjoy-and-what-have-kings-that-privates-have-not-too-save-ceremony-save-general-ceremony-and-what-art-thou-thou-idle-
what-hits-us-really-hard-is-that-we-didnt-fully-realize-subtly-scandalous-deviation-from-path-that-our-dreams-had-laid-out-long-ago-craig-d-lounsbrough
meghan-rose-with-regal-grace-queen-calm-unruffled-i-noticed-she-subtly-moved-in-front-me-when-facing-ariella-familiar-gesture-that-caught-me-off-guard-the-iron-queen-was-protecti
small-steps-may-appear-unimpressive-but-dont-be-deceived-they-are-means-by-which-perspectives-are-subtly-altered-mountains-are-gradually-scaled-lives-are-drastically-changed-rich
when-we-feel-weak-we-drop-our-heads-on-shoulders-others-dont-get-mad-when-someone-does-that-be-honored-for-that-person-trusted-you-enough-to-even-if-subtly-ask-you-for-help-lori-
The plane banked, and he pressed his face against the cold window. The ocean tilted up to meet him, its dark surface studded with points of light that looked like constellations, fallen stars. The tourist sitting next to him asked him what they were. Nathan explained that the bright lights marked the boundaries of the ocean cemeteries. The lights that were fainter were memory buoys. They were the equivalent of tombstones on land: they marked the actual graves. While he was talking he noticed scratch-marks on the water, hundreds of white gashes, and suddenly the captain's voice, crackling over the intercom, interrupted him. The ships they could see on the right side of the aircraft were returning from a rehearsal for the service of remembrance that was held on the ocean every year. Towards the end of the week, in case they hadn't realised, a unique festival was due to take place in Moon Beach. It was known as the Day of the Dead... When he was young, it had been one of the days he most looked forward to. Yvonne would come and stay, and she'd always bring a fish with her, a huge fish freshly caught on the ocean, and she'd gut it on the kitchen table. Fish should be eaten, she'd said, because fish were the guardians of the soul, and she was so powerful in her belief that nobody dared to disagree. He remembered how the fish lay gaping on its bed of newspaper, the flesh dark-red and subtly ribbed where it was split in half, and Yvonne with her sleeves rolled back and her wrists dipped in blood that smelt of tin. It was a day that abounded in peculiar traditions. Pass any candy store in the city and there'd be marzipan skulls and sugar fish and little white chocolate bones for 5 cents each. Pass any bakery and you'd see cakes slathered in blue icing, cakes sprinkled with sea-salt.If you made a Day of the Dead cake at home you always hid a coin in it, and the person who found it was supposed to live forever. Once, when she was four, Georgia had swallowed the coin and almost choked. It was still one of her favourite stories about herself. In the afternoon, there'd be costume parties. You dressed up as Lazarus or Frankenstein, or you went as one of your dead relations. Or, if you couldn't think of anything else, you just wore something blue because that was the colour you went when you were buried at the bottom of the ocean. And everywhere there were bowls of candy and slices of special home-made Day of the Dead cake. Nobody's mother ever got it right. You always had to spit it out and shove it down the back of some chair. Later, when it grew dark, a fleet of ships would set sail for the ocean cemeteries, and the remembrance service would be held. Lying awake in his room, he'd imagine the boats rocking the the priest's voice pushed and pulled by the wind. And then, later still, after the boats had gone, the dead would rise from the ocean bed and walk on the water. They gathered the flowers that had been left as offerings, they blew the floating candles out. Smoke that smelt of churches poured from the wicks, drifted over the slowly heaving ocean, hid their feet. It was a night of strange occurrences. It was the night that everyone was Jesus... Thousands drove in for the celebrations. All Friday night the streets would be packed with people dressed head to toe in blue. Sometimes they painted their hands and faces too. Sometimes they dyed their hair. That was what you did in Moon Beach. Turned blue once a year. And then, sooner or later, you turned blue forever.

Rupert Thomson
the-plane-banked-he-pressed-his-face-against-cold-window-the-ocean-tilted-up-to-meet-him-its-dark-surface-studded-with-points-light-that-looked-like-constellations-fallen-stars-t
the-final-phase-sarahs-project-will-be-seeing-how-new-artwork-blends-into-daily-life-at-school-subtly-interacting-with-students-becoming-landmark-that-will-continue-long-after-sh
to-enter-past-is-like-poking-baseball-bat-into-spiderweb-it-cant-be-done-subtly-delicately-robert-silverberg
a-great-gift-would-be-map-full-evacuation-routes-for-city-subtly-telling-recipient-to-get-hell-out-town-jarod-kintz
the-cards-always-look-different-when-its-your-turn-to-play-them-loaded-with-subtly-different-possibilities-alastair-reynolds
when-child-receives-message-even-subtly-indirectly-that-his-emotions-dont-matter-he-will-grow-up-feeling-somewhere-deep-inside-that-he-himself-doesnt-matter-jonice-webb
The Marquis de V... - whose falsetto voice and little watery eyes I have always detested - was saying to me with a wicked smile: 'Then again, the master gymnast might break his neck at any moment. What he is doing now is very dangerous, my dear, and the pleasure you take in his performance is the little frisson that danger affords you. Wouldn't it be thrilling, if his sweaty hand failed to grip the bar? The velocity acquired by his rotation about the bar would break his spine quite cleanly, and perhaps a little of the cervical matter might spurt out as far as this! It would be most sensational, and you would have a rare emotion to add to the field of your experience - for you collect emotions, don't you? What a pretty stew of terrors that man in tights stirs up in us! 'Admit that you almost wish that he will fall! Me too. Many others in the auditorium are in the same state of attention and anguish. That is the horrible instinct of a crowd confronted with a spectacle which awakens in it the ideas of lust and death. Those two agreeable companions always travel together! Take it from me that at the very same moment - see, the man is now holding on to the bar by his fingertips alone - at the very same moment, a good number of the women in these boxes are ardently lusting after that man, not so much for his beauty as for the danger he courts.' The voice subtly changed its tone, suddenly becoming more interested. 'You have singularly pale eyes this evening, my dear Freneuse. You ought to give up bromides and take valerian instead. You have a charming and curious soul, but you must take command of its changes. You are too ardently and too obviously covetous, this evening, of the death - or at least the fall - of that man.' I did not reply. The Marquis de V... was quite right. The madness of murder had taken hold of me again; the spectacle had me in its hallucinatory grip. Straitened by a penetrating and delirious anguish, I yearned for that man to fall. There are appalling depths of cruelty within me.

Jean Lorrain
the-marquis-de-v-whose-falsetto-voice-little-watery-eyes-i-have-always-detested-was-saying-to-me-with-wicked-smile-then-again-master-gymnast-might-break-his-neck-at-any-moment-wh
ideas-are-interesting-to-me-religions-are-place-where-ideas-have-been-subtly-embodied-for-thousands-years-all-literature-started-as-sacred-salman-rushdie
like-pane-glass-framing-subtly-distorting-our-vision-mental-models-determine-what-we-see-peter-senge
expectations-are-most-perilous-form-dream-when-dreams-do-realise-themselves-it-is-in-waking-world-difference-is-subtly-but-often-painfully-felt-elizabeth-bowen
i-try-to-devote-my-afternoons-to-making-music-in-my-home-studio-but-its-lot-more-fun-hanging-out-with-musicians-friends-trying-subtly-to-influence-david-byrne
i-try-not-to-listen-to-lot-music-when-im-starting-recording-process-because-it-can-be-subtly-influential-hoodie-allen
the-true-gentleman-is-subtly-poised-between-inner-tact-outer-defense-puzant-kevork-thomajan
beware-stories-you-read-tell-subtly-at-night-beneath-waters-consciousness-they-are-altering-your-world-ben-okri
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