I suppose it is because nearly all children go to school nowadays and have things arranged for them that they seem so forlornly unable to produce their own ideas.
It might seem that the empirical philosopher is the slave of his material, but that the pure mathematician, like the musician, is a free creator of his world of ordered beauty.
Cooking wasn’t so bad, I thought. In fact, it was a lot like sex. Sometimes it didn’t seem like such a good idea in the beginning, but then after you got into it …
Love is a lot like coffee in that I can never seem to get enough of it, and hers is hot and mine is iced.
She herself did not seem quite real. She was pale and almost transparent, the victim I used for my own enjoyment in dreams.
Outside the family circle, papa, I'm glad to say, is entirely unknown. I think that is quite as it should be. The home seems to me to be the proper sphere for the man.
How did Adam do it? He seemed to be able to look past Miles's weirdness and insecurities and awkwardness to see Miles, himself, what he was-whatever he was-inside.
My emotions swirl like leaves caught in the breath of a dust devil, and the only thing I can seem to hold onto is the anger.
I saw this beautiful girl the other day. She had an ass behind her that seemed to go on for days. In fact, I’m still going on about her.
Anna is part of a generation that often seems frozen in place by their unreleting sense of irony. Virtually everything people believe in can be exposed as possessing laughable inconsistencies. And so they laugh. And stand still.
It seemed at momemts, When I sat alone in the dark stateroom, that the sky had come down to meet the sea and some great secert was to be revealed.
Sympathy compounded of liking and compassion in varying proportions evidently seemed to Jane Austen the most natural inventive to imaginative interest in a character.
Modern American culture dictated the importance of touching the hand of someone you’ve just met, however counterintuitive it seemed. Why would he want to touch someone he didn’t know?
I had not, it seems, the originality to chalk out a new road to shame and destruction, but trode the old track with stupid exactness not to deviate an inch from the beaten centre.
If he does go, the change will be doleful. Suppose he should be absent spring, summer, and autumn: how joyless sunshine and fine days will seem!
All we have, it seems to me, is the beauty of art and nature and life, and the love which that beauty inspires.
This seemed like one of those make-it-or-break-it moments where you have to consciously choose to do the right thing. Or be bad.
Dissembling was so large a part of middle-class life that honesty and frankness seemed the most devious stratagem of all. The most outright lie was the closest one came to truth.
I’m bored to death. Perhaps I should pillage one of my neighbors for my own amusement. It seems to work for Drowden.
Never ignore the feelings that don't seem to make sense.
We might embody those qualities we desire to possess by embracing them, over and over, until the line between seeming and being is no more.
