70+ Funny Libra Quotes And Sayings On Love For Men & Women

A fact is innocent until someone wants it; then it become intelligence.

Maybe what has to happen is that the individual must allow himself to be swept along, must find himself in the stream of no-choice, the single direction. This is what makes things inevitable. You use the restrictions and penalties they invent to make yourself stronger. History means to merge. The purpose of history is to climb out of your own skin. (101).

Always the pain, the chaos of composition. He could not find order in the field of little symbols. They were in the hazy distance. He could not clearly see the picture that is called a word. A word is also a picture of a word. He saw spaces, incomplete features, and tried to guess at the rest.
he made wild tries at phonetic spelling. But the language tricked him with its inconsistencies. He watched sentences deteriorate, powerless to make them right. The nature of things was to be elusive. Things slipped through his perceptions. He could not get a grip on the runaway world.

There is enough mystery in the facts as we know them, enough of conspiracy, coincidence, loose ends, dead ends, multiple interpretations. There is no need […] to invent the grand and masterful scheme, the plot that reaches flawlessly in a dozen directions. – agent branch (58).

Libras receive great pleasure by pleasing and helping others.

He was a regulator first-class, which was another term for metalworker unskilled.

Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful, for beauty is God’s handwriting.

That which we fear to touch is often the very fabric of our salvation.

A libra is skilled enough to be one step ahead, but make you believe they are one step behind.

We lead more interesting lives than we think. We are characters in plots, without the compression and numinous sheen. Our lives, examined carefully in all their affinities and links, abound with suggestive meaning, with themes and involute turnings we have not allowed ourselves to see completely.

Something about the time of year depressed him deeply. Overcast skies and cutting wind, leaves falling, dusk falling, dark too soon, night flying down before you are ready. It’s a terror. It’s a bareness of the soul. He hears the rustle of nuns. Here comes winter in the bone. We’ve set it loose on the land. There must be some song or poem, some folk magic we can use to ease this fear. Skelly bone pete. Here it is in the landscape and sky. We’ve set it loose. We’ve opened up the ground and here it is. He took interstate 45 south. He didn’t want them to kill leon. He felt a saturating sense of death, a dread in the soft filling of his bones, the suckable part, approaching galveston now.

Some nights I need to be held. Tonight i’m a listener. So nice to lie in rumpled sheets and listen. Cover me with words.

[lee oswald] saw himself as part of something vast and sweeping. He was the product of a sweeping history, he and his mother, locked into a process, a system of money and property that diminished their human worth every day, as if by scientific law. The books made him part of something. Something led up to his presence in this room, in this particular skin, and something would follow. Men in small rooms. Men reading and waiting, struggling with secret and feverish ideas. (41).

Some people don’t believe in god but they color eggs at easter just to change the pattern of their days.

Is he one of them now? frustrated, stuck, self-watching, looking for a means of connection, a way to break out. After oswald, men in america are no longer required to lead lives of quiet desperation. You apply for a credit card, buy a handgun, travel through cities, suburbs and shopping malls, anonymous, anonymous, looking for a chance to take a shot at the first puffy empty famous face, just to let people know there is someone out there who reads the papers.

The elegance is as physical, as moral quality that has nothing common with the clothing. You can see a countrywoman more elegant than one so called elegant woman.

Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.

There is a world inside the world.

God made big people. And god made little people. But colt made the .45 to even things up.

I am a Libra so I have to balance things.

When lee has a certain look on his face, eyes kind of amused, mouth small and tight, he finds himself thinking of his father. He believes it is a look his father may have used. It feels like his father. A curious sensation, the look coming upon him, taking hold in an unmistakable way, and then his old man is here, eerie and forceful and whole, a meeting across worlds.

Think of two parallel lines. […] one is the life of lee h. Oswald. One is the conspiracy to kill the president. What bridges the space between them? what makes a connection inevitable? there is a third line. It comes out of dreams, visions, intuitions, prayers, out of the deepest levels of the self. It’s not generated by cause and effect like the other two lines. It’s a line that cuts across causality, cuts across time. It has no history that we can recognize or understand. But it forces a connection. It puts a man on the path of his destiny. – david ferrie (339).

As a Libra you win people over with your charm.

That clean but lonely feeling when there are no other cars. The traffic lights changing just for you.

Secrets are an exalted state, almost a dream state. They’re a way of arresting motion, stopping the world so we can see ourselves in it.

Devices make us pliant. We want to please them. The machine was his only hope of deliverance after what he’d done, what he’d loosed into the crowd. A way out of death. – (362).

Libras hate to see others hurthing, but when you irritate them their temper can be destructive.

If the world is where we hide from ourselves, what do we do when the world is no longer accessible? we invent a false name, invent a destiny, purchase a firearm through the mail. (148).

The truth of the world is exhausting.

There’s always more to it. This is what history consists of. It is the sum total of the things they aren’t telling us.

The less important you are in an office, the more they expect the happy smile.

A shrewd person would one day start a religion based on coincidence, if he hasn’t already, and make a million.

No need to give Libra orders. They won’t obey them anyway.

A word is also a picture of a word.

It was uncanny. You press a button and a man drops dead a hundred meters away. It seemed hollow and remote, falsifying everything. It was a trick of the lenses. The man is an accurate picture. Then he is upside down. Then he is right side up. You shoot at a series of images conveyed to you through a metal tube. The force of a death should be enormous but how can you know what kind of man you’ve killed or who was the braver and stronger if you have to peer through layers of glass that deliver the image but obscure the meaning of the act? war has a conscience or it’s ordinary murder.

Facts are lonely things.

The falling away of things we carry around with us, twilight and chimney smoke.

Blaze all way to the Libra back to the cheater.

The agency was the one subject in his life that could never be exhausted. Central intelligence. Beryl saw it as the best organized church in the christian world, a mission to collect and store everything that everyone has ever said and then reduce it to a microdot and call it god.

Even as he printed the words, he imagined people reading them, people moved by his loneliness and disappointment, even by his wretched spelling, the childish mesh of his composition. Let them see the struggle and humiliation, the effort he had to exert to write a simple sentence. The pages were crowded, smudged, urgent, a true picture of his state of mind, of his rage and frustration, knowing a thing but not being able to record it properly.