A Quote by Constantin Stanislavski

In talking about a genius, you would not say that he lies; he sees realities with different eyes from ours. — © Constantin Stanislavski
In talking about a genius, you would not say that he lies; he sees realities with different eyes from ours.
Only--but this is rare-- When a beloved hand is laid in ours, When, jaded with the rush and glare Of the interminable hours, Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear, When our world-deafen'd ear Is by the tones of a loved voice caress'd-- A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast, And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again. The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain, And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know. A man becomes aware of his life's flow, And hears its winding murmur; and he sees The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.
The child has a different relation to his environment from ours... the child absorbs it. The things he sees are not just remembered; they form part of his soul. He incarnates in himself all in the world about him that his eyes see and his ears hear.
I never knew a man could tell so many lies, he had a different story for every set of eyes. How can he remember who he's talking to?
There's a thing that happens to Midwesterners - we spend a lot of time talking about having a different set of rules about manners. I don't know about ethics, but certainly about manners, what you would say and what you wouldn't say. And that is not very East coast.
Sometime in the future, science will be able to create realities that we can't even begin to imagine. As we evolve, we'll be able to construct other information systems that correspond to other realities, universes based on logic completely different from ours and not based on space and time.
We are as much informed of a writer's genius by what he selects as by what he originates. We read the quotation with his eyes, andfind a new and fervent sense; as a passage from one of the poets, well recited, borrows new interest from the rendering. As the journals say, "the italics are ours.
True genius sees with the eyes of a child and thinks with the brain of a genie
Maybe each human being lives in a unique world, a private world different from those inhabited and experienced by all other humans. . . If reality differs from person to person, can we speak of reality singular, or shouldn't we really be talking about plural realities? And if there are plural realities, are some more true (more real) than others?
Architects in urban planning are talking about this but they're not talking about it yet I don't think at that level that [Buckminster] Fuller is talking about when he talked about putting a dome over Manhattan, which is to say an attempt at integrating all of these different technologies in a way that makes for a city that, without having an actual dome, thermodynamically manages the heat flow for that urban environment and therefore makes it so that it is a highly efficient machine for a living or a dwelling machine as he would have preferred in terms of thermodynamically optimizing it.
Oh, I'm not a true genius. I'm a near genius. I would say I'm a short genius. I'd rather be tall and normal than a short genius.
Magoo's appeal lies in our hostility toward an older generation. But he's not only nearsighted physically. His mind is selective of what it sees, too. That is where the humor, the satire lies, in the difference between what he thinks he sees and reality as we see it.
It's different obviously with a song when you're talking about narrative, you're talking about the verse leading into the chorus or whatever it is, but you have to have a sensibility of how something would flow either way.
It's tricky because Instagram is not Grindr. I'm always trying to show my good side. I never complain. When I have a moment of sadness, I make sure no one ever sees. And while I'm so good at talking to friends or talking about my job, if you were to ask me to dinner - just the two of us, in a romantic way - I would be the worst. I'm so shy I would not talk.
The world is seldom what it seems; to man, who dimly sees, realities appear as dreams, and dreams realities.
You may tell the greatest lies and wear a brilliant disguise, but you can't escape the eyes of the one who sees right through you.
When people write lies about you, and you know that they are lies, that means that they don't know the truth, so that's OK with me. If something true came out, I would have to check my circle to see who's talking and possibly make an apology phone call to my parents!
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