Quotes about Observation

She had so much more capacity for love than I had - I couldn't bring down that curtain round the moment, I couldn't forget and I couldn't not fear. Even in the moment of love, I was like a police officer gathering evidence of a crime that hadn't yet been committed [...]

Phuong had kept us a table at the edge of the dance-floor and the orchestra was playing some tune which had been popular in Paris five years ago. Two Vietnamese couples were dancing, small, neat, aloof, with an air of civilization we couldn't match. (I recognized one, an accountant from the Banque de

Do not call any work menial until you have watched a proud person do it.

As a gardener, I wonder if flowers really can't speak or just exercise unfailing good judgment in the matter.

It's amazing how much funny stuff there is.... [A] river of rich comedic milk is flowing across the land, and as fast as I skim off the cream more cream appears.... I may be doomed to wade around forever in other people's pith. Not that it's such a bad life.

In the elder days of art Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part, For the gods see everywhere

Have you ever noticed how many different silences there are, Gilbert? The silence of the woods . . . of the shore . . . of the meadows . . . of the night . . . of the summer afternoon. All different because all the undertones that thread them are different. I'm sure if I were totally blind and insensitive to heat and cold I could easily tell just where I was by the quality of the silence about me.

So far, the ordinary observer; an extraordinary observer might have seen that the chin was very pointed and pronounced; that the big eyes were full of spirit and vivacity; that the mouth was sweet-lipped and expressive; that the forehead was broad and full; in short, our discerning extraordinary observer might have concluded that no commonplace soul inhabited the body of this stray woman-child of whom shy Matthew Cuthbert was so ludicrously afraid.

Miss Barry, who was sitting behind them, leaned forward and poked Marilla in the back with her parasol.

Occasionally she looked at Anne, seemed on the point of saying something, then shook her head and buttoned up her mouth.

Art is born of the observation and investigation of nature.

A simile committing suicide is always a depressing spectacle.