A Quote by Charles Correa

Like a trail that a snail leaves in its wake as it inches forward, over the years an architect leaves behind a body of work, generated by the attitudes he gradually accumulates towards the agendas he deals with
I would like my pictures to look as if a human being had passed between them, like a snail, leaving a trail of the human presence and memory trace of past events, as the snail leaves its slime.
The difference between a politician and a snail is that the snail leaves its slime behind. Whoever named it necking was a poor judge of anatomy.
Like a snail crossing a sidewalk, the Clinton Administration leaves a lengthening trail of slime, this time on America's national honor.
The past is a trail you leave behind, much like the wake of a speedboat. That is, it's a vanishing trail temporarily showing you where you were. The wake of a boat doesn't affect it's course-obviously it can't since it appears behind the boat. So consider this image when you exclaim that your past is the reason you aren't moving forward.
You can ask the question, "What's making the boat go forward?" It can't be the wake. The wake can't drive the boat. It's just the trail left behind. It can't make the boat go forward, any more than the trail that you've left behind in your life is responsible for where you're going now in your life. The belief that whatever you've been is what you have to be is a meme - a mind virus.
Naked a man comes into the world and naked he leaves it, after all is said and done he leaves nothing except the good deeds he leaves behind.
NLP is an attitude and a methodology, not the trail of techniques it leaves behind
In the blur of the photograph, time leaves its gleaming, snail-like track.
When someone gradually leaves your life, that's one thing because you get used to the end of it. When somebody disappears, it takes all of your control away. It leaves you frantic.
The autumn leaves blew over the moonlit pavement in such a way as to make the girl who was moving there seem fixed to a sliding walk, letting the motion of the wind and the leaves carry her forward. [...] The trees overhead made a great sound of letting down their dry rain.
The generation of mankind is like the generation of leaves. The wind scatters the leaves on the ground, but the living tree burgeons with leaves again in the spring.
When I was 18 years old I went to Shakespeare Company, the school, and I wrote a poem about my leaves - I felt like a tree that had no leaves. That is the life at 18.
When a person travels through a few years with an organization, or with a partnership, or any other kind of working association, he leaves a 'wake' behind in these two areas, task and relationship: what did he accomplish and how did he deal with people?
Pain does two things: It teaches you, tells you that you're alive. Then it passes away and leaves you changed. It leaves you wiser, sometimes. Sometimes it leaves you stronger. Either way, pain leaves its mark, and everything important that will ever happen to you in life is going to involve it in one degree or another.
The goblins want girls who dream so hard about being pretty their yearning leaves a palpable trail, a scent goblins can follow like sharks on a soft bloom of blood. The girls with hungry eyes who pray each night to wake up as someone else. Urgent, unkissed, wishful girls. Like Kizzy.
I don't think anyone leaves Las Vegas rejuvenated, their skin shining, their bank accounts glowing. No one leaves Vegas, like, 'I didn't make one mistake. That felt great. Back to work.'
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