A Quote by Elias Canetti

His head is made of stars, but not yet arranged into constellations. — © Elias Canetti
His head is made of stars, but not yet arranged into constellations.
The stars we are given. The constellations we make. That is to say, stars exist in the cosmos, but constellations are the imaginary lines we draw between them, the readings we give the sky, the stories we tell.
Things are as they are. Looking out into it the universe at night, we make no comparisons between right and wrong stars, nor between well and badly arranged constellations.
Those who first invented and then named the constellations were storytellers. Tracing an imaginary line between a cluster of stars gave them an image and an identity. The stars threaded on that line were like events threaded on a narrative. Imagining the constellations did not of course change the stars, nor did it change the black emptiness that surrounds them. What it changed was the way people read the night sky.
A wise man shall overrule his stars, and have a greater influence upon his own content than all the constellations and planets of the firmament.
I had the usual friends who pointed out constellations of stars. But it really was watching the stars. It was getting some sense of the motion of the earth. I found it a remarkable thing.
In the movie, the stars above the ship bear no correspondence to any constellations in a real sky. Worse yet, while the heroine bobs... we are treated to her view of this Hollywood sky-one where the stars on the right half of the scene trace the mirror image of the stars in the left half. How lazy can you get?
My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
Ideas are to objects as constellations are to stars [translated from Trauerspiel, 1928].
You are down there alone, the stars seemed to say to him. And we are up here, in our constellations, together.
I think it's noteworthy that the Almighty didn't act high and mighty. The Holy One wasn't holier-than-thou. The One who knew it all wasn't a know-it-all. The One who made the stars didn't keep his head in them. The One who owns all the stuff of earth never strutted it.
Mark Tobey fills his canvases with elliptical, calligraphic lines, beautiful whirls that seem at first glance to be completely abstract and to come from nowhere at all except his own subjective musing. But I shall never forget how struck I was, on visiting Tobey's studio one day, to see strewn around books on astronomy and photographs of the Milky Way. I knew then that Tobey experiences the movement of the stars and solar constellations as the external pole of his encounter.
Okay, maybe I'm not such a shitty writer. But I can't pull my ideas together, Van Houten. My thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations.
There's a universe inside your head, constellations of the things you left unsaid.
The back of Donald Trump's head is fantastic and his eyebrows are amazing. His overbite and his series of chins and the color of him and the texture. It's amazing! He's like an artifact. It's an amazing head to draw and I have to think it's got to be part of his success. It's ready-made for public consumption.
Max lifted his head, with great sorrow and great astonishment. 'There were stars,' He said. 'They burned my eyes.’ ...from a Himmel street window, he wrote, the stars set fire to my eyes.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!