Broaden My Horizons Quotes

Life experience. I can talk it up, vow to broaden my horizons, but I’m still limited to the experiences with my life. How can a person understand an experience that lies completely outside her own? She can see it, feel it, imagine what it would be like to live it, but it’s no different from seeing a movie on a screen and saying, “Thank God that’s not me”.

I want to do what little I can to make my country truly free, to broaden the intellectual horizon of our people, to destroy the prejudices born of ignorance and fear, to do away with the blind worship of the ignoble past, with the idea that all the great and good are dead, that the living are totally depraved, that all pleasures are sins, that sighs and groans are alone pleasing to God, that thought is dangerous, that intellectual courage is a crime, that cowardice is a virtue, that a certain belief is necessary to secure salvation, that to carry a cross in this world will give us a palm in the next, and that we must allow some priest to be the pilot of our souls.

Hard Times Music is silenced, the dark descending slowly Has stripped unending skies of all companions. Weariness grips your limbs and within the locked horizons Dumbly ring the bells of hugely gathering fears. Still, O bird, O sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings. It's not melodious woodlands but the leaps and falls Of an ocean's drowsy booming, Not a grove bedecked with flowers but a tumult flecked with foam. Where is the shore that stored your buds and leaves? Where the nest and the branch's hold? Still, O bird, my sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings. Stretching in front of you the night's immensity Hides the western hill where sleeps the distant sun; Still with bated breath the world is counting time and swimming Across the shoreless dark a crescent moon Has thinly just appeared upon the dim horizon. -But O my bird, O sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings. From upper skies the stars with pointing fingers Intently watch your course and death's impatience Lashes at you from the deeps in swirling waves; And sad entreaties line the farthest shore With hands outstretched and crooning 'Come, O come!' Still, O bird, O sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings. All that is past: your fears and loves and hopes; All that is lost: your words and lamentation; No longer yours a home nor a bed composed of flowers. For wings are all you have, and the sky's broadening countryard, And the dawn steeped in darkness, lacking all direction. Dear bird, my sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings!

ELLE: i tried to heterotextualize my feelings for a while ELLE: in retrospect idk why ELLE: all part of the process i guess DARCY You what? "It took her a second to figure out what had confused Darcy." ELLE: apply hetero context to a super not straight situation ELLE: hetero + contextualize = heterotextualize DARCY: Huh. New word. Thanks for broadening my horizons. "Elle bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing." ELLE: i made it up ELLE (4:43 P.M.): but you’re welcome DARCY (4:45 P.M.): Of course.

That just proves my poit. You have the talent for traveling. I'm not sure that I do. I keep hearing everyone go on about how travel broadens your horizons. I'm not even sure what that means, but it hasn't broadened anything for me, because I'm no good at it. [...] Traveling's not something you're good at. It's something you do. Like breathing.

Two things fill the mind with every new and increasing wonder and awe, the oftener and the more steadily I reflect upon them: the starry heavens above me and the moral law within me. I do not merely conjecture them and seek them as if they were obscured in darkness or in the transcendent region beyond my horizon: I see them before me, and I connect them directly with the consciousness of my own existence. The starry heavens begin at the place I occupy in the external world of sense, and they broaden the connection in which I stand into an unbounded magnitude of worlds beyond worlds and systems of systems and into the limitless times of their periodic motion, their beginning and duration. The latter begins at my invisible self, my personality, and exhibits me in a world which has true infinity but which only the understanding can trace - a world in which I recognise myself as existing in a universal and necessary ( and not, as in the first case, only contingent) connection, and thereby also in connection with all those visible worlds. The former view of a countless multitude of worlds annihilates, as it were, my importance as an 'animal creature' which must give back to the planet (a mere speck in the universe) the matter fro which it came, matter which is for a little time endowed with vital force, we know not how. The latter, on the contrary, infinitely raises my worth as that of an 'intelligence' by my being a person in whom the moral law reveals to me a life independent of all animality and even of the whole world of sense, at least so far as it may be inferred from the final destination assigned to my existence by this law, a destination which is not restricted to the conditions and boundaries of this life but reaches into the infinite.

How can I condemn my son to a life of smallness and limitation? How can I allow him to be imprisoned in a cheder or yeshiva for the rest of his childhood while I am allowing myself the opportunity to broaden my own limited horizons? It doesn’t feel right. I can no longer imagine abandoning him to this narrow, stifling life when I want so much to have a free one.

Within the bounds of positivity we say and find it obvious that, in my own experience, I experience not only myself but others—in the particular form: experiencing someone else. The indubitable transcendental explication showed us not only that this positive statement is transcendentally legitimate but also that the concretely apprehended transcendental ego (who first becomes aware of himself, with his undetermined horizon, when he effects transcendental reduction) grasps himself in his own primordial being, and likewise (in the form of his transcendental experience of what is alien) grasps others: other transcendental egos, though they are given, not originaliter and in unqualifiedly apodictic evidence, but only in an evidence belonging to ‘external’ experience. ‘In’ myself I experience and know the Other; in me he becomes constituted—appresentatively mirrored, not constituted as the original. Hence it can very well be said, in a broadened sense, that the ego acquires—that I, as the one who meditatingly explicates, acquire by ‘self-explication’ (explication of what I find in myself) every transcendency: as a transcendentally constituted transcendency and not as a transcendency accepted with naive positivity. Thus the illusion vanishes: that everything I, qua transcendental ego, know as existing in consequence of myself, and explicate as constituted in myself, must belong to me as part of my own essence. This is true only of ‘immanent transcendencies’. As a title for the systems of synthetic actuality and potentiality that confer sense and being on me as ego in my own essentialness, constitution signifies constitution of immanent objective actuality.

In my introduction to Warriors, the first of our crossgenre anthologies, I talked about growing up in Bayonne, New Jersey, in the 1950s, a city without a single bookstore. I bought all my reading material at newsstands and the corner “candy shops,” from wire spinner racks. The paperbacks on those spinner racks were not segregated by genre. Everything was jammed in together, a copy of this, two copies of that. You might find The Brothers Karamazov sandwiched between a nurse novel and the latest Mike Hammer yarn from Mickey Spillane. Dorothy Parker and Dorothy Sayers shared rack space with Ralph Ellison and J. D. Salinger. Max Brand rubbed up against Barbara Cartland. A. E. van Vogt, P. G. Wodehouse, and H. P. Lovecraft were crammed in with F. Scott Fitzgerald. Mysteries, Westerns, gothics, ghost stories, classics of English literature, the latest contemporary “literary” novels, and, of course, SF and fantasy and horror—you could find it all on that spinner rack, and ten thousand others like it. I liked it that way. I still do. But in the decades since (too many decades, I fear), publishing has changed, chain bookstores have multiplied, the genre barriers have hardened. I think that’s a pity. Books should broaden us, take us to places we have never been and show us things we’ve never seen, expand our horizons and our way of looking at the world. Limiting your reading to a single genre defeats that. It limits us, makes us smaller. It seemed to me, then as now, that there were good stories and bad stories, and that was the only distinction that truly mattered.

About page warm and casual on her blog, The Pioneer Woman: Howdy. I’m Ree Drummond, also known as The Pioneer Woman. I’m a moderately agoraphobic ranch wife and mother of four. Welcome to my frontier! I’m a middle child who grew up on the seventh fairway of a golf course in a corporate town. I was a teen angel. Not. After high school, I thought my horizons needed broadening. I attended college in California, then got a job and wore black pumps to work every day. I ate sushi and treated myself to pedicures on a semi-regular basis. I even kissed James Garner in an elevator once. I loved him deeply, despite the fact that our relationship only lasted 47 seconds. Unexpectedly, during a brief stay in my hometown, I met and fell in love with a rugged cowboy. Now I live in the middle of nowhere on a working cattle ranch. My days are spent wrangling children, chipping dried manure from boots, washing jeans, and making gravy. I have no idea how I got here . . . but you know what? I love it. Don’t tell anyone! I hope you enjoy my website, ThePioneerWoman.com. Here, I write daily about my long transition from spoiled city girl to domestic country wife.2

said doubtfully. Among many other things. My conversations with Badger inspired me to visit art galleries and museums, to attend plays and concerts, to broaden my cultural horizons. The war had shown me man’s capacity for destruction. Badger reminded me of man’s capacity to create. When I studied a painting or listened to a symphony or stood beneath St. Paul’s magnificent dome, I felt a renewed sense of hope for the future. Though much had been destroyed, much remained, and much would be restored. Civilization would endure.

class, I had the pleasure of bonding with an older lady, Maddy. At the age of fifty-two, Maddy decided to take a few courses, just to broaden her horizons and learn a few new things. Maddy very quickly became a dear friend of mine, despite our thirty-year age difference. Maddy sat to my right and I could tell she sensed my unease because she kept checking on me with sideways glances. He was still too close. I could hear each breath that pulled

Travel can—and should—change our perspectives and broaden our worldviews.

I can’t believe I beat you.” “Weren’t you hoping to beat me?” “Well, yeah. I always hope to beat you. That doesn’t mean that I ever do.” “Sometimes, a little hope is all you need.” “Maybe everyone can live beyond what they’re capable of.” “Where’s that from?” “I Am the Messenger by Markus Zusak,” said Bernie. “I’m currently reading it. I’m trying to broaden my horizons.” “Very good. I’ve taught you well. The teacher has become the student,” Charlie said, laughing.

In the conclusion to The Metaphysics of Sex , I emphasised that the chief purpose of my book was to broaden the reader’s intellectual horizons. I had made the same point in other books, books of a different kind, yet marked by the same crucial references to doctrines and worldviews now largely forgotten. Apart from much new information, I argued that what readers — and only some readers, at that — might gain from a similar broadening of intellectual horizons was an awareness of the fact that contemporary manifestations of sexuality - usually primitive, degraded and even morbid manifestations - are not simply ‘normal’, possible and real. I suggested that in the case of more qualified individuals - whether male or female - the doctrines and perspectives described in The Metaphysics of Sex might provide the means to solve various personal problems, and to find a way out of the baseness of ordinary human existence. On the other hand, I pointed out that, given the present condition of humanity, one should generally hold no illusions with regard to the possibilities of realising the truly transcendent potentialities of sexuality - although sex certainly remains ‘the greatest magical power in nature’. p212