Quotes
Authors
Wendy Mass

"Everything we think we know is really only perceived by our senses,' he explains patiently. 'The sounds we hear are just waves in the air; colors are electromagnetic radiation; your sense of taste comes from molecules that match a specific area on your tongue. Hey, if our eyes could access the infrared part of the light spectrum, the sky would be green and trees would be red. Some animals see in completely different ways, so who knows what colors look like to them. Nothing is really how we perceive it."

-- Wendy Mass

#Eye Quotes #Animal Quotes #Thinking Quotes

“What America needs is a good five-cent cigar.”
“The circumstances with which every thing in this world is begirt, give every thing in this world its size and shape;--and by tightening it, or relaxing it, this way or that, make the thing to be, what it is--great--little--good--bad--indifferent or not indifferent, just as the case happens.”
“Talent is like electricity. We don't understand electricity. We use it.”
“With the White Sox, when we do stuff, everybody's opinion is asked for, is given and then decisions are made on just about everything.”
“The other theory is because Donal Trump is not been vetted and no attacks on him have really been tested by Republicans, that is an unknown. He might be a paper tiger if somebody would only go after him.”

Source : Source: www.msnbc.com
“[Freud's] great strength, though sometimes also his weakness, was the quite extraordinary respect he had for the singular fact... When he got hold of a simple but significant fact he would feel, and know, that it was an example of something general or universal, and the idea of collecting statistics on the matter was quite alien to him.”

Source : Ernest Jones (1961). “The life and work of Sigmund Freud”, Basic Books (AZ)
“When I was a kid, Eisenhower had been President forever, and all of a sudden, everything in the world was all about Jack Kennedy. I was 12, interested in politics; my father was from Massachusetts, had an accent like Kennedy.”
“In my old age, I have come to believe that love is not a noun but a verb. An action. Like water, it flows to its own current. If you were to corner it in a dam, true love is so bountiful it would flow over. Even in separation, even in death, it moves and changes. It lives within memory, in the haunting of a touch, the transience of a smell, or the nuance of a sigh. It seeks to leave a trace like a fossil in the sand, a leaf burning into baking asphalt.”

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