But how awful would that be? How terrible to live surrounded by the stark, sharp, hollowness of things that simply were enough?
Patrick RothfussRead
Using words to talk of words is like using a pencil to draw a picture of itself, on itself. Impossible. Confusing. Frustrating ... but there are other ways to understanding.
Interpretation
The quote reflects the limits of language in conveying meaning, suggesting that some concepts are beyond verbal explanation.
Patrick Rothfuss's quote illustrates the challenges of using language to describe itself, akin to an object trying to depict its own essence. The analogy highlights the inherent limitations and frustrations of relying solely on words for understanding, while hinting at alternative methods of grasping deeper truths, such as experience or intuition.
In practice
In a discussion about the limitations of language in conveying emotions.
But how awful would that be? How terrible to live surrounded by the stark, sharp, hollowness of things that simply were enough?
I wanted to tell her that she was the first beautiful thing I had seen in three years. That the sight of her yawning to the back of her hand was enough to drive the breath from me. How I sometimes lost the sense of her words in the sweet fluting of her voice. I wanted to say that if she were with me then somehow nothing could ever be wrong for me again.
Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts. There are seven words that will make a person love you. There are ten words that will break a strong man's will. But a word is nothing but a painting of a fire. A name is the fire itself.
How odd to watch a mortal kindle / Then to dwindle day by day / Knowing their bright souls are tinder / And the wind will have its way
All the truth in the world is held in stories.
Music is a proud, temperamental mistress. Give her the time and attention she deserves, and she is yours. Slight her and there will come a day when you call and she will not answer. So I began sleeping less to give her the time she needed.
If you wish to shine like day, burn up the night of self-existence. Dissolve in the Being who is everything.
We stand there, quiet. My questions all seem wrong: How did you get so old? Was it all at once, in a day, or did you peter out bit by bit? When did you stop having parties? Did everyone else get old too, or was it just you? Are other people still here, hiding in the palm trees or holding their breath underwater? When did you last swim your laps? Do your bones hurt? Did you know this was coming and hide that you knew, or did it ambush you from behind?
You can't understand Twenty-first-Century Politics with an Eighteenth-Century Brain.
All of our reasoning ends in surrender to feeling.
The Gospel is open to all; the most respectable sinner has no more claim on it than the worst.
Remember that your perception of the world is a reflection of your state of consciousness. You are not separate from it, and there is no objective world out there. Every moment, _x000D_ your consciousness creates the world that you inhabit.
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