A Quote by Thomas Hughes
Old timidity has disappeared, and is replaced by silent, quaint fun, with which his face twinkles all over, as he listens.
Related Quotes
This is a man with an old face, always old... There was pathos, in his face, and in his eyes. The early weariness; and sometimes tears in his eyes, Which he let slip unconsciously on his cheek, Or brushed away with an unconcerned hand. There were tears for human suffering, or for a glance Into the vast futility of life, Which he had seen from the first, being old When he was born.
My father's life was so decimated by his earliest experiences. His mother died when he was 7 years old, which he always said was the worst experience in his life. When he was 8, his father disappeared and he was on his own from the age of 8.
Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity of the appetite, for adventure over the love of ease. This often exists in a man of 60 more than a boy of 20. Nobody grows old merely by a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals.
The old internet is shrinking and being replaced by walled gardens over which Google's crawlers can't climb.
The orator puts off his individuality, and is then most eloquent when most silent. He listens while he speaks, and is a hearer along with his audience.
The radio of my youth ... is now a quaint memory replaced by computer hard drives.
I think that many people have lost their sense of loyalty to their company. That's because very few companies remain loyal to their people. The old "job for life" condition disappeared 20 years ago - and nothing has replaced it.
In the history of photography, one process has always replaced another. The tumultuous realignment that's going on in the photography now is really just a natural evolution. The irony is that none of the processes that have been replaced have disappeared. More people than ever are practicing every approach to shooting and printing.
Video is originally a de-corporation, a disqualification of the sensorial organs which are replaced by machines. The eye and the hand are replaced by the data glove, the body is replaced by a data suit, sex is replaced by cybersex. All the qualities of the body are transferred to the machine.
By 'socialism' I mean a classless society in which the State has disappeared, production is cooperative, and no man has political or economic power over another. The touchstone would be the extent to which each individual could develop his own talents and personality.
I have seen him set fire to his wigwam and smooth over the graves of his fathers... clap his hand in silence over his mouth, and take the last look over his fair hunting ground, and turn his face in sadness to the setting sun.
It is quite evident that a barrier must be cleared in order to escape the psychologists and enter into a realm which is not "auto-observant", where we ourselves no longer divide ourselves into observer and observed. Then the dreamer is completely dissolved in his reverie. His reverie is his silent life. It is that silent peace which the poet wants to convey to us.
Man is a marvelous curiosity...he thinks he is the Creator's pet...he even believes the Creator loves him; has passion for him; sits up nights to admire him; yes and watch over him and keep him out of trouble. He prays to him and thinks he listens. Isn't it a quaint idea.
Art, not less eloquently than literature, teaches her children to venerate the single eye. Remember Matsys. His representations of miser-life are breathing. A forfeited bond twinkles in the hard smile. But follow him to an altar-piece. His Apostle has caught a stray tint from his usurer. Features of exquisite beauty are seen and loved; but the old nature of avarice frets under the glow of devotion. Pathos staggers on the edge of farce.
As a seven-year-old, I remember when Etan Patz disappeared and was immortalized as the first missing-child face on a milk carton.
Is there anything on earth which would have meaning and would even change the course of events not only on earth, but in other worlds?” I asked my teacher. “There is,” my teacher answered me. “Well, what is it?” I asked. “It’s...” began my teacher and suddenly fell silent. I stood and waited intently for his answer. But he was silent. And I stood and was silent. And he was silent. And I stood, silent. And he was silent. We’re both standing and silent. Ho-la-la! We’re both standing and silent. Ho-le-le! Yes, yes, we’re both standing and silent! 16-17 July 1937
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