A Quote by Elizabeth Bowen
The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends.
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The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends. The friend becomes a traitor by breaking, however unwillingly or sadly, out of our own zone: a hard judgment is passed on him, for all the pleas of the heart.
Absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends.
My wife, she knows me better than anybody else. She knows what I'm struggling with, and she knows where I'm at. And I have friends, pastors, and it's good not to have my only friends be people who think I'm special. It's really good to have people who think I'm just an ordinary guy.
She may be lying in bed reading a book, she may be making love with a prize fighter, or she may be running like mad through a field of stubble, one shoe one, one shoe off, a man named Corn Cob pursuing her hotly. Wherever she is I am standing in complete darkness; her absence blots me out.
There are some people who become best friends with everyone they photograph. There are people that I really like and admire and respect, but in a way I think it's better to keep a distance. I think you get better pictures of people that you don't know very well.
If the portraits of our absent friends are pleasant to us, which renew our memory of them and relieve our regret for their absence by a false and empty consolation, how much more pleasant are letters which bring us the written characters of the absent friend.
Absence does not so much make the heart grow fonder as give the heart time to integrate what it has not previously absorbed, time to make sense of what happened too quickly to have any meaning in the instant. This is always true. If it is in absence that people forget each other, it is also in the quiet pause of absence that, minds running in symmetry, people come to know each other; there is sometimes as much intimacy in the span of continents as in the shared hours before dawn.
To fear death is nothing other than to think oneself wise when one is not. For it is to think one knows what one does not know. No one knows whether death may not even turn out to be the greatest blessings of human beings. And yet people fear it as if they knew for certain it is the greatest evil.
Darkness is the absence of light. Happiness is the absence of pain. Anger is the absence of joy. Jealousy is the absence of confidence. Love is the absence of doubt. Hate is the absence of peace. Fear is the absence of faith. Life is the absence of death.
The interesting thing about an absent father is, for a child, you don't know he's absent. You just think he's... tardy.
No. I think they're the idiot people and I'm the normal person. But I don't really go to parties where...I don't really have drunk friends. My friends are kind of adult; they have a drink. But they hold their liquor. I think it's incredibly embarrassing when people are drunk. It just looks so ridiculous. I find it very degrading. I think, oh, you're really degrading yourself right now, to be this pissed out in public.
I don't think that all girls seek the influence of older men, but I think girls whose fathers are absent or recessed from their lives often do. And honestly, when I was growing up, fathers were generally pretty absent from their children's lives. We didn't see a lot of them. That may be something that has genuinely changed for the better in our culture: men are more present for their children now that more women are working.
How often we say about our earthly friends, "I really would like to have a good quiet settled talk with them so that I can really get to know them." And shouldn't we feel the same about our Heavenly Friend, that we may really get to know Him? These thoughts have taught me the importance of the children of God taking time to commune daily with their Father, so that they may get to know His mind and to understand better what His will is.
Where the heart is, there the muses, there the gods sojourn, and not in any geography of fame. Massachusetts, Connecticut River, and Boston Bay, you think paltry places, and the ear loves names of foreign and classic topography. But here we are; and, if we tarry a little, we may come to learn that here is best. See to it, only, that thyself is here;--and art and nature, hope and fate, friends, angels, and the Supreme Being, shall not absent from the chamber where thou sittest.
I remember one of my writer friends asking me, "Jonestown? Everyone knows the ending. What's new or surprising that you can say about it?" I told him that although people may know that almost one thousand people died in the massacre, they don't know what happens to my five people. Some escaped, some did not.
Every time I think I’m getting smarter I realize that I’ve just done something stupid. Dad says there are three kinds of people in the world: those who don’t know, and don’t know they don’t know; those who don’t know and do know they don’t know; and those who know and know how much they still don’t know. Heavy stuff, I know. I think I’ve finally graduated from the don’t-knows that don’t know to the don’t-knows that do.
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