Killing Commendatore Quotes

From a distance, most things look beautiful.

Instead of a stable truth, I choose unstable possibilities.

Look deep enough into any person and you will find something shining within.

As I gazed at my reflection I wondered, Where am I headed? Before that, though, the question was Where have I come to? Where is this place? No, before that even I needed to ask, Who the hell am I?

We all live our lives carrying secrets we cannot disclose.

You can have all the desire and ache inside you want, but what you really need is a concrete starting point.

None of us are ever finished. Everyone is always a work in progress.

A face is like reading a palm. More than the features you’re born with, a face is gradually formed over the passage of time, through all the experiences a person goes through, and no two faces are alike.

I couldn’t be sure if I had moved forward or fallen behind, or if I was just circling over the same spot.

what hurt me was actually me, myself. In the midst of that continuing, unsettled silence my feelings, like a heavy pendulum, a razor-sharp blade,

If this was a dream, then the world I’m living in itself must all be a dream.

No need to worry. Time is the remedy for your concerns. It is the key for all things that possess form. True, time does not last forever, but as long as you have it, it is remarkably efficacious. So look forward to the future, my friends.

It seems as if, year after year, the world becomes a more difficult place to live.

The silence lent a faint weight to the air. As though I were sitting alone, at the bottom of the sea.

No matter how vivid a memory, the power of time was stronger. I knew this instinctively.

In the silence of the woods it felt like I could hear the passage of time, of life passing by. One person leaves, another appears. A thought flits away and another takes its place. One image bids farewell and another one appears on the scene. As the days piled up, I wore out, too, and was remade. Nothing stayed still. And time was lost. Behind me, time became dead grains of sand, which one after another gave way and vanished. I just sat there in front of the hole, listening to the sound of time dying.

Tomorrow is tomorrow. Today is all we have right now.

That sometimes in life we can’t grasp the boundary between reality and unreality. Than boundary always seems to be shifting. As if the border between countries shifts from one day to the next depending on their mood. We need to pay close attention to that movement otherwise we won’t know which side we’re on.

You’re still young, so that’s why you say that. When you get to be my age, you’ll understand how I feel. How much loneliness the truth can cause sometimes.

I believe that it’s not necessary to believe in the soul’s existence. But turn that around and you come to the belief that there’s no need to not believe in its existence.

Memory can give warmth to time.

to me my face in the mirror looked like a virtual fragment of my self that had been split in two. The self there was the one I hadn’t chosen. It wasn’t even a physical reflection.

I was desperately clinging to a scrap of wood that had been swept away. In pitch-black darkness, not a single star, or the moon, visible in the sky. As long as I clung to that piece of wood I wouldn’t drown, but I had no clue where I was, where I was heading.

Everything has a bright side,” he said. “The top of even the blackest, thickest cloud shines like silver.

Nature grants its beauty to us all, drawing no line between rich and poor.

There wasn't any anger involved (I think). I mean, what was I supposed to be angry with? What I was feeling was a fundamental numbness. The numbness your heart automatically activates to lessen the awful pain when you want somebody desperately and they reject you. A kind of emotional morphine.

The world is full of lonely things, but not many could be lonelier than waking up alone in the morning in a love hotel.

I am endowed with the capacity to believe. I believe in all honesty that something will appear to guide me through the darkest and narrowest tunnel, or across the most desolate plain.

When people photograph an object, they often put a pack of cigarettes next to it to give the viewer a sense of the object’s actual size, but the pack of cigarettes next to the images in my memory expanded and contracted, depending on my mood at the time. Like the objects and events in constant flux, or perhaps in opposition to them, what should have been a fixed yardstick inside the framework of my memory seemed instead to be in perpetual motion.

There are some things that can’t be explained in this life,” Menshiki went on, “and some others that probably shouldn’t be explained. Especially when putting them into words ignores what is most crucial.

Perhaps nothing can be certain in this world," I said. "But at least we can believe in something.

Back within those eyes there was a deep world, a world beyond time.

It’s like I’d been born with a blind spot, and was always missing something. And what I missed was always the most important thing of all.

Your true heart lives in your memory. It is nourished by the images it contains—that’s how it lives,” a woman said.

I had to put my faith in time.

The morning is not my time. Darkness is my friend. A vacuum is my breath. I must be saying goodbye soon.

It was still inchoate, something missing. Something that should be there was appealing to the nonvalidity of absence. And that missing element was rapping on the glass window separating presence and absence. I could make out its wordless cry.

He must be living a life free of worries. But viewed from his perspective, looking at me from his side of the valley, I might appear to also be living a life of ease and leisure. From a distance, most things look beautiful.

If I can draw you the right way, maybe you'll be able to see yourself through my eyes," I said, "If all goes well, of course." "That's why we needs pictures." "You're right--that's why we need pictures. Or literature, or music, or anything of that sort.

Changes in a person's feelings aren't regulated by custom, logic, or the law. They're fluid, unstable, free to spread their wings and fly away. Like migratory birds have no concept of borders between countries.

Outside was pitch black. So black I felt morning might never arrive, not for all eternity.

What would be the meaning of a world that did not change when an Idea was extinguished? Can an Idea be so insignificant?

Our lives really do seem strange and mysterious when you look back on them. Filled with unbelievably bizarre coincidences and unpredictable, zigzagging developments. While they are unfolding, it’s hard to see anything weird about them, no matter how closely you pay attention to your surroundings. In the midst of the everyday, these things may strike you as simply ordinary things, a matter of course. They might not be logical, but time has to pass before you can see if something is logical.

The way I see it,” Menshiki said, “there’s a point in everybody’s life where they need a major transformation. And when that time comes you have to grab it by the tail. Grab it hard, and never let go.

Yet what was time, when you got right down to it? We measured its passage with the hands of a clock for convenience’s sake. But was that appropriate? Did time really flow in such a steady and linear way? Couldn’t this be a mistaken way of thinking, an error of major proportions?

No matter how much he loved someone, he still couldn't share his life with them. He needed solitary time every day to concentrate, and he couldn't stand it when someone's presence threw off his concentration. If he lived with someone he knew he would end up detesting them. Whether it was his parents, a wife, or children. He feared that above all. He wasn't afraid of loving someone. What he feared was growing to hate someone.

It seems to me that reality itself has a screw loose somewhere. That's why I try to keep at least myself in line as much as possible.

We all have ordeals we must face,” Menshiki said. “It’s through them that we find a new direction in our lives. The more grueling the ordeal, the more it can help us down the road.

Day after day I took part in producing nothingness. Perhaps I was quite used to facing nothingness day after day - though I wouldn't go so far as to say we were intimate.

My self in the mirror is just a physical reflection.

Even the darkest, thickest cloud shines silver when viewed from above.

It felt like he’d opened the lid to invite me, personally, to the world underground. No one else, just me.

Only by taking his own life was my uncle able to recover his humanity.

People devote a lot of energy to thinking about things. Whether they want to or not. Yet in the end we all just have to wait - only time can tell how events play out. The answers lie ahead.

There is a point is everybody's life where they need a major transformation. And when that time comes you have to grab it by the tail. Grab it hard, and never let go. There are some people who are able to, and others who can't.

There are probably things people are better off not hearing … But they can’t go forever without hearing them. When the time comes, even if they stop their ears up tight, the air will vibrate and invade a person’s heart. You can’t prevent it. If you don’t like it, then the only solution is to live in a vacuum.

When it came down to it, though, could anything be completely correct, or completely incorrect? We lived in a world where rain might fall thirty percent, or seventy percent, of the time. Truth was probably no different. There could be thirty percent or seventy percent truth.

about life after divorce. Like you’re walking along as always, sure you’re on the right path, when the path suddenly vanishes, and you’re facing an empty space, no sense of direction, no clue where to go, and you just keep trudging along. That’s what it feels like.

People can become accustomed to almost anything, especially when they’re pushed to the limit. It may become surprisingly easy then.

The greatest surprise in life is old age’?

This might sound like dumb advice, but if you’re going to walk down a road, it’s better to walk down the sunny side, right?

Affirmative. A hard-and-fast rule in business is to never accept the first offer. Remember that, and you will never go wrong.

What is important is not creating something out of nothing. What my friends need to do is discover the right thing from what is already there.

The people I met in the classroom were less living beings than mere shadows crossing my path.

Nothing stayed still. And time was lost. Behind me, time became dead grains of sand, which one after another gave way and vanished.

maybe this world now was an extension of the dream, one I was shut up inside.

In the same way that people stare up at the sky to see the moon every night, yet understand next to nothing about it.

There are plenty of things in history that are best left in the shadows. Accurate knowledge does not improve people’s lives. The objective does not necessarily surpass the subjective, you know. Reality does not necessarily extinguish fantasy.

But the forecasters and media types were clever - they never used vague words like "maybe." No, they stuck with convenient terms for which no one could be held accountable, like "probability of precipitation.

That's why I go all out in whatever I do. I want to stretch myself as far as I can, to see what I'm capable of. I have no time to be bored. That's the best way I know of keeping fear and emptiness at arm's length.

How much loneliness the truth can cause sometimes.

There are hammers in the world that need to pound in nails, and nails that need to be pounded by hammers.

A hard-and-fast rule in business is to never accept the first offer.

The parking lot was packed with cars. Most had come with families. The number of minivans really stood out. All minivans look identical to me. Like cans of tasteless biscuits.

Naturally there should be a few lessons I should learn. The courage not to fear a change in one’s lifestyle, the importance of having time on your side.

It all seemed like a short dream. But I knew very well that it wasn’t. If this was a dream, then the world I’m living in itself must all be a dream.

Sometimes people go through huge transformations,” Menshiki said. “They obliterate the style they’ve worked in, and out of the ruins they rise up again.

Just as a great poet can use one scene to bring another new, unknown vista into view. It should be obvious, but the best metaphors make the best poems.

FROM A DISTANCE, MOST THINGS LOOK BEAUTIFUL

Mariye nodded. “I like things I can see as much as things I can’t,” she said.

فى بعض الاحيان ، ثمة أشياء من الأفضل للمرء ألا يعرفها

What I was feeling was a fundamental numbness. The numbness your heart automatically activates to lessen the awful pain when you want somebody desperately and they reject you. A kind of emotional morphine.

Bringing my face close to the glass, I looked out at the wide expanse of ocean. The horizon seemed to be pushing up against the sky. I followed the line where the sky met the water from end to end. No human being could draw a line so beautiful, whatever ruler they might use.

Look deep enough into any person and you will find something shining within. My job was to uncover this and, if the surface is fogged up (which was more than the case), polish it with a cloth to make it shine again. Otherwise the darker side would naturally reveal itself in the portrait.

… sometimes in life we can’t grasp the boundary between reality and unreality. That boundary always seems to be shifting. As if the border between countries shifts from one day to the next depending on their mood. We need to pay close attention to that movement, otherwise we won’t know which side we’re on.

I'd love that" I said. "Really?" "Yes, really" "It might get pretty scary sometimes" "Knowing more about yourself, you mean?" She nodded. "If you want to know yourself better you have to bring in something different from someplace else

For everything around me was the product of connectivity. Nothing was absolute. Pain was a metaphor. The tentacle clutching my leg was a metaphor. All was relative. Light was shadow, shadow was light. I had no choice but to believe. What else could I do?

time has to pass before you can see if something is logical.

A questo mondo non c'è nulla di certo. Ma se vogliamo credere a qualcosa, nulla ce lo vieta.

Allegories and metaphors are not something you should explain in words. You just grasp them and accept them.

كنتُ أنا من جَرَحَ نفسه بنفسه. كان قلبي، في ذلك الصمت المتواصل، مثل البندول الثقيل المصنوع من نصْل سكَّين حادَّة، يتأرجح من أقصى طرف إلى أقصى طرف، و يرسم بذلك قوسَّا من الجروح تنبض على جلدي.

Look deep enough into any person and you will find something shining within. My job was to uncover this and, if the surface is fogged up (which was more often the case), polish it with a cloth to make it shine again. Otherwise the darker side would naturally reveal itself in the portrait.

You didn’t draw anything today,” Mariye commented. “There are days like this,” I said. “Time steals some things, but it gives us back others. Making time our ally is an important part of our work.

But what did you do to discover this painting?” Menshiki asked me. “Discover?” “It was you who did this painting, of course. You created it through your own power. But you also discovered it. You found this image buried within you and drew it out. You unearthed it, in a way. Don’t you think so?

Accurate knowledge does not improve people's lives. The objective does not necessarily surpass the subjective, you know. Reality does not necessarily extinguish fantasy... There are channels through which reality can become unreal, or unreality can enter the realm of the real. If we desire it that strongly. Deep in our heart. But that didn't mean we were free. It might demonstrate quite the opposite.

The truth is a symbol, and symbols are the truth. It is best to grasp symbols the way they are. There’s no logic or facts, no pig’s belly button or ant’s balls. When people try to use a method other than the truth to follow along the path of understanding, it is like trying to use a sieve to hold water.

The truth is a symbol, and symbols are the truth. It is best to grasp symbols the way they are. There’s no logic or facts, no pig’s belly button or ant’s balls. When people try to use a method other than the truth to follow along the path of understanding, it is like trying to use a sieve to hold water.

I’ve always enjoyed this time, early in the morning, gazing intently at a pure white canvas. “Canvas Zen” is my term for it. Nothing is painted there yet, but it’s more than a simple blank space. Hidden on that white canvas is what must eventually emerge. As I look more closely, I discover various possibilities, which congeal into a perfect clue as to how to proceed. That’s the moment I really enjoy. The moment when existence and nonexistence coalesce.

That sometimes in life we can’t grasp the boundary between reality and unreality. That boundary always seems to be shifting. As if the border between countries shifts from one day to the next depending on their mood. We need to pay close attention to that movement, otherwise we won’t know which side we’re on. That’s what I meant when I said it might be dangerous for me to remain inside that pit any longer.

I had no particular problem about getting divorced. For all intents and purposes we already were divorced. And I had no emotional hang up about signing and sealing the official documents. If that's what she wanted, fine. It was a legal formality, nothing more. But when it came to why, and how, things had turned out this way, the sequence of events was beyond me. I understood, of course, that over time, and as circumstances changed, a couple could grow closer, or move apart. Changes in a person's feelings aren't regulated by custom, logic, or the law. They're fluid, unstable, free to spread their wings and fly away. Like migratory birds have no concept of borders between countries. But these were all just generalizations, and I couldn't easily grasp the individual case here-that this woman, Yuzu, refused to love this man, me, and chose instead to be loved by someone else. It felt terribly absurd, a horribly ugly way to be treated. There wasn't any anger involved (I think). I mean, what was I supposed to be angry with? What I was feeling was a fundamental numbness. The numbness your heart automatically activates to lessen the awful pain when you want some-body desperately and they reject you. A kind of emotional morphine.