Mirror On The Wall Quotes

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
I have placed you in my hall
Where I wander every day.
Echo beauty, and you'll stay. ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Ever play 'mirror mirror on the wall' with two mirrors facing each other? ~ Josh Stern

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the hottest bitch of all? ~ Sara Humphreys

The growl that permeated the room was loud enough to rattle the mirror on the wall next to Qhuinn's head - as well as the silver brush set on the bureau and the crystals on the sconces by the door. At first he was sure it was Phury…except then the Brother's brows came down hard and the male looked over his shoulder.

Layla was out of bed and closing in on the pair of them - and holy fucking shit, the look in her eyes was enough to melt paint off a car door: In spite of the fact that she was not well, her fangs were bared, and her fingers were curled into claws…and the icy draft that preceded her made the back of Qhuinn's neck prickle in warning.

That growl was nothing that should have come out of a male…much less a delicate female of Chosen status.

And if anything, her nasty tone of voice was worse: "Let. Him. Go."

She was looking up at Phury as if she were fully prepared to rip the Brother's arms out of their sockets and beat him with the stumps if he didn't do exactly what she said. Pronto ~ J.R. Ward

Baba Yaga: " ... What are his powers"
Mirror on the wall: "He reads ~ Bill Willingham

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the dumbest of you all? ~ Anne Robinson

It's all mirror, mirror on the wall because beauty is power the same way money is power the same way a gun is power. ~ Chuck Palahniuk

Magic Mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all? ~ Serena Valentino

My story is a sad and lonely one, and beautiful and lively and joyful. It's not perfect; it is what it is.
This is a story.
But it is not a fairytale. ~ Eugenia Argerami

A Roman came to Rabbi Gimzo the Water Carrier, and asked, "What is this study of the law that you Jews engage in?" and Gimzo replied, "I shall explain. There were two men on a roof, and they climbed down the chimney. One's face became sooty. The other's not. Which one washed his face?" The Roman said, "That's easy, the sooty one, of course." Gimzo said, "No. The man without the soot looked at his friend, saw that the man's face was dirty, assumed that his was too, and washed it." Cried the Roman, "Ah ha! So that's the study of law. Sound reasoning." But Gimzo said, "You foolish man, you don't understand. Let me explain again. Two men on a roof. They climb down a chimney. One's face is sooty, the other's not. Which one washes?" The Roman said, "As you just explained, the man without the soot." Gimzo cried,"No, you foolish one! There was a mirror on the wall and the man with the dirty face saw how sooty it was and washed it." The Roman said, "Ah ha! So that's the study of law! Conforming to the logical." But Rabbi Gimzo said, "No, you foolish one. Two men climbed down the chimney. One's face became sooty? The other's not? That's impossible. You're wasting my time with such a proposition." And the Roman said, "So that's the law! Common sense." And Gimzo said, "You foolish man! Of course it was possible. When the first man climbed down the chimney he brushed the soot away. So the man who followed found none to mar him." And the Roman cried, "That's brilliant, Rabbi Gimzo. Law is ~ James A. Michener

Boy you really missed the boat. I'll make it simple, so's even fuckin you can understand. Papa God growed us up till we could wear long pants; then he licensed his name to dollar bills, left some car keys on the table, and got the fuck outta town". Water rushes to his eye-holes. "Don't be lookin up at no sky for help. Look down here, at us twisted dreamers". He takes hold of my shoulders, spins me around, and punches me towards the mirror on the wall. "You're the God. Take responsibility. Exercise your power ~ D.B.C. Pierre

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the most powerful of them all? ~ C.J. Redwine

Dan was doing his best Ian Kabra impersonation, looking around the store as though inspecting it for cockroaches. Amy tried to turn her snort of laughter into a cough.
"Espresso?" The saleswoman materialized seemingly out of nowhere. Amy realized that the full-length mirror on the wall was actually a door.
If she were Amy Cahill, she would blush and shake her head no, just because she didn't want to cause any bother. She imagined what Natalie Kabra would do.
"Tea. Darjeeling," she said in a curt tone.
"Oh, not Darjeeling, sis," Dan said. "That's just so middle class."
"Lapsang souchong?" the saleswoman asked.
"I just adored his last collection," Dan said.
The woman's tight smile dimmed. "That's a tea. ~ Jude Watson

Mirror Mirror on the Wall,
Who's fairest of them all?
I'm Mona Lisa and She is plain,
But the truth is - we all are Vain. ~ Saru Singhal

Mirror, mirror on the wall, I am my mother after all. ~ James Patterson

Mirror mirror on the wall, show the real me or naught at all. ~ Gautama Buddha

With a sudden flash of anger, she blurted, "Lash wasn't impotent, all right? He wasn't ... impotent-"

The temperature in the room plummeted so fast and so far, her breath came out in clouds.

And what she saw in the mirror made her swing around and take a step back from John: His blue eyes glowed with an unholy light and his upper lip curled up to reveal fangs that were sharp and so long they looked like daggers.

Objects all around the room began to vibrate: the lamps on the bed stands, the clothes on their hangers, the mirror on the wall. The collective rattling crescendoed to a dull roar and she had to steady herself on the bureau or run the risk of being knocked on her ass.

The air was alive. Supercharged. Electric.

Dangerous.

And John was the center of the raging energy, his hands cranking into fists so tight his forearms trembled, his thighs grabbing onto his bones as he sank down into fighting stance.

John's mouth stretched wide as his head shot forward on his spine... and he let out a war cry-

Sound exploded all around her, so loud she had to cover her ears, so powerful she felt the blast against her face.

For a moment, she thought he'd found his voice- except it wasn't vocal cords making that bellowing noise.

The glass in the sliders blew out behind him, the sheets shattering into thousands of shards that blasted free of the house, the fragments bouncing on the ~ J.R. Ward

She had been struck by the figure of a woman's back in a mirror. She stopped and looked. The dress the figure wore was the color called ashes of roses, and Ada stood, held in place by a sharp stitch of envy or th woman's dress and the fine shape of her back and her thick dark hair and the sense of assurance she seemed to evidence in her very posture.
Then Ada took a step forward, and the other woman did too, and Ada realized that it was herself she was admiring, the mirror having caught the reflection of an opposite mirror on the wall behind her. The light of the lamps and the tint of the mirrors had conspired to shift colors, bleaching mauve to rose. She climbed the steps to her room and prepared for bed, but she slept poorly that night, for the music went on until dawn. As she lay awake she thought how odd it had felt to win her own endorsement. ~ Charles Frazier

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the naughtiest of them all? ~ Sara Shepard

I never walked out the door and said, "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest Baldwin brother of them all?" ~ Alec Baldwin

Mirror mirror on the wall who is the deceptor amongst us all". ~ Amit Abraham

Mirror mirror on the wall. I'll always get up after I fall and whether I run, walk or crawl, I'll set my goals and achieve them all. Unknown ~ Brie Edison

I could see the two of us in the round mirror on the wall, our long hair down, our blue eyes. Norsewomen. When I saw us like this, I could almost remember fishing in cold deep seas, the smell of cod, the charcoal of our fires, our felt boots and our strange alphabet, runes like sticks, a language like the ploughing of fields. ~ Janet Fitch

Faith looks beyond the walls of the obstacle and on to the answer. ~ Benny Hinn

A photograph can show a physical image in which time is static, and a mirror can show a physical image in which time is dynamic, but I think that what he saw on the mountain was another kind of image altogether which was not physical and did not exist in time at all. ~ Robert M. Pirsig

Angela turned in her chair. Resting her chin on folded hands, the
mirror reflected the look of a girl in love. 'Oh, what a blessing fate has
bestowed on me. ~ Katherine Givens

A plaque hanging on the wall of my home invites me to remember where I came from-each day. It reads, "No matter if a tree grows to more than a thousand feet in height, each leaf, each day, must return to its roots for nourishment." ~ Mary Ellen W. Smoot

I remember him watching me through the crack of a door singing with a hairbrush. I was in front of his mirror. I think he wanted me to sing. He would get me on the table and make me sing sometimes or play the piano. He was very encouraging on that front. ~ Lisa Marie Presley

I tried but I can't admire or respect actors. How can a person be so much in love with just looking good? How much emptiness must an actor have to keep looking at himself/herself in the mirror and put on make-up to come in front of the camera? ~ Avijeet Das

I think it's a broader target list than just Wall Street, and I believe that we have to be very focused on how we try to take back the power and increase the empowerment of the American people. And, I think I have that kind of experience, maybe because they've beat me up for so many years, and I know exactly how to handle them because I've been in the arena with them time and time again. ~ Hillary Clinton

Power dynamic operates in emotional contagion, determining which person's brain will more forcefully draw the other into its emotional orbit. Mirror neurons are leadership tools: Emotions flow with special strength from the more socially dominant person to the less. One reason is that people in any group naturally pay more attention to and place more significance on what the most powerful person in that group says and does. That amplifies the force of whatever emotional message the leader may be sending, making her emotions particularly contagious. As I heard the head of a small organization say rather ruefully, When my mind is full of anger, other people catch it like the flu. ~ Daniel Goleman

Westwards along the basement, I let myself through a heavy door just beyond the dead giraffes. There was a notice on the wall that read "Departmental cock"
I never did find out what that meant. ~ Richard Fortey

Good Mistake"

Blood on your hands
And your hands still roam
But your secret is safe with the garden gnome
Those marks on your neck never seem to fade
Bring a marching band
For the masquerade
Oh lonely man
You know you can
A pocket knife
Will serve you well
Remember what you're good for
There's much more to life

Under the sun
It's not what they can see
Until it's done
Your secret's safe with me

Blow out the candles on your cake
It's another year due with the same mistakes
Blind like a bat
When you hit that wall
Now who's gonna come
Who you gonna call
Oh lonely man
You know you can
A pocket knife
Will serve you well
Remember what you're good for
There's much more to life

Under the sun
It's not what they can see
Until it's done
Your secret's safe with me

I can see you run
I can see you're undone
Shadow to the sun
Shadow to the sun
See a rule to break
See another rule to make
It's a good mistake
Shadow next to none

Broken bones in a walking man
It's a trick to the eye
It's a rubber band
Don't let it go
Let it fall a part
It's a heavy load
For a tender heart ~ Mr. Little Jeans

We were in danger of having our eyes poked out on a daily basis, and we looked straight hair dead in the eye by not eating our bread crusts. This was also before they found a cure for getting overheated.
We also faced getting hemorrhoids from sitting on the cold cement wall in front of the school, having permanently crossed eyes from making faces, and getting pinworms from playing with kids whose parents and addresses we didn't know. ~ Diane Laney Fitzpatrick

The tinkle of a wind chime stirred from over a window. Purple and white phlox cascaded cheerfully over the top of a nearby stone wall. Sunlight sifted through the weave of her straw hat, casting freckles of light on her nose and cheeks that shifted, out of focus, as she walked. ~ Caragh M. O'Brien

It's so simple at the beginning. You meet someone gorgeous and smart and funny. Somebody who's better than you - you both know it, at least on some level. You fall in love with them. But you fall even more in love with their idea of you. You feel lucky. Because you are lucky. Then time passes. You both change too much. You stay too much the same. The truth worms its way out, and the horizon grows dark. Eventually all you're left with is somebody who sees you for who you really are. And sooner or later, they hold up a mirror and you're forced to see for yourself. ~ Kimberly McCreight

I thought leaving home would be a liberation. I thought university would be a dance party. I thought I would live in a room vined with fairy lights; hang arabesque tapestries up on the wall. I thought scattered beneath my bed would be a combination of Kafka, coffee grounds, and a lover's old boxer shorts. I thought I would spend my evenings drinking cheap red wine and talking about the Middle East. I thought on weekends we might go to Cassavetes marathons at the independent cinema. I thought I would know all the good Korean places in town. I thought I would know a person who was into healing crystals and another person who could teach me how to sew. I thought I might get into yoga. I thought going for frozen yogurt was something you would just do. I thought there would be red cups at parties. And I thought I would be different. I thought it would be like coming home, circling back to my essential and inevitable self. I imagined myself more relaxed - less hung up on things. I thought I would find it easy to speak to strangers. I thought I would be funny, even, make people laugh with my warm, wry, and only slightly self-deprecating sense of humor. I thought I would develop the easy confidence of a head girl, the light patter of an artist. I imagined myself dancing in a smoky nightclub, spinning slackly while my arms floated like laundry loose on the breeze. I imagined others watching me, thinking, Wow, she is so free. ~ Lara Williams

I can remember one occasion, taking a shower with my wife while high, in which I had an idea on the origins and invalidities of racism in terms of Gaussian distribution curves. It was a point obvious in a way, but rarely talked about. I drew curves in soap on the shower wall, and went to write the idea down. One idea led to another, and at the end of about an hour of extremely hard work I had found I had written eleven short essays on a wide range of social, political, philosophical, and human biological topics. . . . I have used them in university commencement addresses, public lectures, and in my books. ~ Carl Sagan

You are the TEACHER. Some people are so stuck on what you did in the past, that they don't realize that you forgave yourself, matured, and graduated from what happened.

Yet here they are stuck on that memory..wondering how you were able to move on. Time waits for no one and life keeps going.

When haters try to remind you of your past, starve their attention with silence..Just realize that you don't have time to supervise adults. You got things to do and individuals to mentor.

What was designed to crush you just strengthened your walk, put confidence in your talk, and encouraged you to be content with You.

Their presence or opinion is only entertainment in the bleachers, tolerated decorations on the wall, and the uncelebrated clown at your events.

Remember you are the teacher and they are the student...take charge of your classroom!! ~ Kendricks Fields

She slipped into the shadows and waited, like a she-wolf, for her quarry.
Bay caught her breath when Owen Blackthorne stepped into the cool night air. He was close enough to touch. His shaggy black hair looked rumpled, as though he'd shoved both hands through it in agitation. When he started to move off the porch, Bay reached out and grasped his sleeve.
A second later she was slammed back against the wall, a powerful male hand at her throat choking her. She could feel the heat of him, the solid maleness of him. And panicked. She clawed at Owen's flesh with her nails and drove her knee upward toward his genitals. Her thrust her upraised knee aside, and the full weight of his over-six-foot frame shoved hard against her from shoulders to thighs.
Bay froze, staring up at him in mute horror. Her body trembled in shock. She tried to speak, but there was no air to be had beneath the crushing pressure of his grip on her throat.
"What the hell . . .?" He released her throat and grabbed her arms to yank her into the narrow stream of light from the kitchen doorway.
She gasped a breath of air, coughed, then gasped another, pressing a shaky hand to her injured throat. She wrenched to free herself, but he let her go without a struggle and took a wary step back. She rubbed her arms where he'd held her, wishing she'd approached him more directly.
"What are you doing out here, Mizz Creed?" His voice was clipped but controlled. The violence she'd felt in his touc ~ Joan Johnston

This, not incidentally, is another perfect setting for deindividuation: on one side, the functionary behind a wall of security glass following a script laid out with the intention that it should be applied no matter what the specific human story may be, told to remain emotionally disinvested as far as possible so as to avoid preferential treatment of one person over another - and needing to follow that advice to avoid being swamped by empathy for fellow human beings in distress. The functionary becomes a mixture of Zimbardo's prison guards and the experimenter himself, under siege from without while at the same time following an inflexible rubric set down by those higher up the hierarchical chain, people whose job description makes them responsible, but who in turn see themselves as serving the general public as a non-specific entity and believe or have been told that only strict adherence to a system can produce impartial fairness. Fairness is supposed to be vested in the code: no human can or should make the system fairer by exercising judgement. In other words, the whole thing creates a collective responsibility culminating in a blameless loop. Everyone assumes that it's not their place to take direct personal responsibility for what happens; that level of vested individual power is part of the previous almost feudal version of responsibility. The deindividuation is actually to a certain extent the desired outcome, though its negative consequences are not. ~ Nick Harkaway

The smoke! The golden smoke!
His robe whipped upward, turning him until his face was directed downward into the abyss. With his gaze on the depths, he recognized a maelstrom of boiling rapids there, the mirror of his life-precipitous currents and plunges, all movement gathering up all substance. Leto's words wound through his mind on a path of golden smoke: "Caution is the path to mediocrity. Gliding, passionless mediocrity is all that most people think they can achieve." Moneo fell freely then in the ecstasy of awareness. The universe opened for him like clear glass, everything flowing in a no Time. ~ Frank Herbert

On Wall Street, financial crisis destroys jobs. Here in Washington, it creates them. The rest is just details. ~ Timothy Noah

Once he had watched Liz making a silk braid. One end was pinned to the wall and on each finger of her raised hands she was spinning loops of thread, her fingers flying so fast he couldn't see how it worked. 'Slow down,' he said, 'so I can see how you do it,' but she'd laughed and said, 'I can't slow down, if I stopped to think how I was doing it I couldn't do it at all. ~ Hilary Mantel

Paris?" she said hazily, and that was when Paris whirled to face the wall again, because she was barely clothed, and now that she wasn't on the verge of dying, that was a lot more embarrassing. And improper. And kind of attractive, which he was really trying not to think about right now. ~ Rosamund Hodge

As a painter paints pictures on a wall, the intellect goes on creating the world in the heart always. ~ Brahmananda Saraswati

In every room there is a mirror before which he stands attentively and chews his rage, and from the constant chewing, from the grumbling and mumbling and the muttering and cursing his jaws have gotten unhinged and they sag badly and, when he rubs his beard, pieces of his jaw crumble away and he's so disgusted with himself that he stamps on his own jaw, grinds it to bits with his big heels. ~ Henry Miller

The poems which touched her heart most, suffusing her with exalted emotion, so that she felt she could gather everything to her, were those which tell of the sorrow that wakes in the heart whose dreams have not been fulfilled, and of the beauty of that sorrow. The ship which in Autumn lies deserted on the shore, rudderless, mastless, used no more; the bird that cowers low in shelter, likewise in the Autumn, featherless and forlorn, driven before the storm;the harp that hangs trembling on the wall, silently mourning its owner's fall-all this was her poetry. ~ Halldor Laxness

The Beat Generation, that was a vision that we had, John Clellon Holmes and I, and Allen Ginsberg in an even wilder way, in the late forties, of a generation of crazy, illuminated hipsters suddenly rising and roaming America, serious, bumming and hitchhiking everywhere, ragged, beatific, beautiful in an ugly graceful new way--a vision gleaned from the way we had heard the word 'beat' spoken on streetcorners on Times Square and in the Village, in other cities in the downtown city night of postwar America--beat, meaning down and out but full of intense conviction--We'd even heard old 1910 Daddy Hipsters of the streets speak the word that way, with a melancholy sneer--It never meant juvenile delinquents, it meant characters of a special spirituality who didn't gang up but were solitary Bartlebies staring out the dead wall window of our civilization--the subterraneans heroes who'd finally turned from the 'freedom' machine of the West and were taking drugs, digging bop, having flashes of insight, experiencing the 'derangement of the senses,' talking strange, being poor and glad, prophesying a new style for American culture, a new style (we thought), a new incantation--The same thing was almost going on in the postwar France of Sartre and Genet and what's more we knew about it--But as to the actual existence of a Beat Generation, chances are it was really just an idea in our minds--We'd stay up 24 hours drinking cup after cup of black coffee, playing record after record of Wardell ~ Jack Kerouac

I reach for the napkin, and as I do I catch sight of my hands. They are knobby and crooked, thin-skinned, and - like my ruined face - covered with liver spots.
My face. I push the porridge aside and open my vanity mirror. I should know better by now, but somehow I still expect to see myself. Instead, I find an Appalachian apple doll, withered and spotty, with dewlaps and bags and long floppy ears. A few strands of white hair spring absurdly from its spotted skull.
I try to brush the hairs flat with my hand and freeze at the sight of my old hand on my old head. I lean close and open my eyes very wide, trying to see beyond the sagging flesh.
It's no good. Even when I look straight into the milky blue eyes, I can't find myself anymore. When did I stop being me? ~ Sara Gruen

Take this. It's one of my gothics. The seventies were, sadly, not the time to include sex scenes of any satisfying nature. When the lights go out, you can imagine the hero and heroine are lying in bed, fully clothed, making shadow puppets on the wall. ~ Kelley Armstrong

As an athlete, when you least expect it, you may find yourself standing on the threshold of an accomplishment so monumental that it strikes fear into your soul. You must stand ready, at any moment, to face the unknown. You must be ready to walk boldly thru the wall of uncertainty. ~ John Bingham

No militia or political leader is so powerful - his name never so influential - as when he is dead, enshrined on wall posters and gateposts amid naively painted clusters of tulips and roses, the final artistic accolade of every armed martyr in Lebanon. ~ Robert Fisk

If a season like the Great Rebellion ever came to him again, he feared, it could never be in that same personal, random array of picaresque acts he was to recall and celebrate in later years at best furious and nostalgic; but rather with a logic that chilled the comfortable perversity of the heart, that substituted capability for character, deliberate scheme for political epiphany (so incomparably African); and for Sarah, the sjambok, the dances of death between Warmbad and Keetmanshoop, the taut haunches of his Firelily, the black corpse impaled on a thorn tree in a river swollen with sudden rain, for these the dearest canvases in his soul's gallery, it was to substitute the bleak, abstracted and for him rather meaningless hanging on which he now turned his back, but which was to backdrop his retreat until he reached the Other Wall, the engineering design for a world he knew with numb leeriness nothing could now keep from becoming reality, a world whose full despair he, at the vantage of eighteen years later, couldn't even find adequate parables for, but a design whose first fumbling sketches he thought must have been done the year after Jacob Marengo died, on that terrible coast, where the beach between Luderitzbucht and the cemetery was actually littered each morning with a score of identical female corpses, an agglomeration no more substantial-looking than seaweed against the unhealthy yellow sand; where the soul's passage was more a mass migration across that choppy fetc ~ Thomas Pynchon

The kitchen is the great laboratory of the household, and much of the 'weal and woe' as far as regards bodily health, depends on the nature of the preparations concocted within its walls. ~ Isabella Beeton

Jerusalem's wall is real, but it's also symbolic," he said. "In a way, we destroyed the wall ourselves by relying on idols instead of on God. We destroyed it by desecrating His Sabbaths. By ignoring the laws He gave us, laws that teach us how to live. These ruins are a picture of what we did to our relationship with the Almighty One - we demolished it. Now it's time to rebuild what our sins have destroyed. ~ Lynn Austin

What was desire anyway, when examined in the clear light of day? Was it the way a woman searched for her clothes in the morning, or the manner in which a man might watch her sit before the mirror and comb her hair? Was it a pale November dawn, when ice formed on windowpanes and crows called from the bare black trees? Or was it the way a person might yield to the night, setting forth on a path so unexpected that daylight would never again be completely clear? ~ Alice Hoffman

Dear Valued Customer: Your cable bill is now increasing 5% per month. You cannot cancel your cable. Ever. You cannot reduce your bill in any way. If you turn off your cable, your bill will remain exactly the same. If you rip your cable out of the wall, your bill will remain exactly the same, with the exception that we will charge you for the damage. Your children will be unable to cancel your cable contract. Also, please note that we will be reducing our delivery of channels by approximately 1 every month. As we deliver fewer channels, you can anticipate that your bill will sharply increase. If you do not pay your bill on time, the ownership of your house will revert to us, and we will lock you in an undisclosed location, where you will be forced to do tech support, and where we will be unable to protect you from assault and rape. If you attempt to defend yourself when we come to take your house, we are fully authorized to gun you down. Sincerely, The Statist Cable Company ~ Stefan Molyneux

If ever I create a website, I'll call it Two-Face Book, and I'll invite everyone to it, it will be a game board, of a whitewash chalkboard.
A social network, with reserved intentions, where we can fall into our cliques and circle of friends. We can dis who we want and accept who appeals to our discretion. Where the users will keep abusing, and abusers keep using, where the computer bullies will keep swinging and the J-birds that fly by will die; where the lonely will keep seeking and the needy still go desperate, where the envious will keep hating, and the lustful will keep flashing. Where those that think ignoring, will keep one down and the wannabes will foolishly think themselves greater by the number of "likes" that pours caffeine into their coffee. We can jump on the bandwagon of likes, or reserve not to show we care. Where the scorners, scammers and stalkers lay wait to take hold of the innocent and fragile, and my pockets will get fatter as more and more will join up, where being fake is accepted. As a mirror that stares at a different face. It will be my two-face epilogue, in a 3-world dimension, of a twofold war. I will build an empire of contagious hooks, and still we will live, happily-ever disastrous. ~ Anthony Liccione

Men often think submission indicates weakness, that letting someone else take charge betrays a character deficit. But we all submit to strangers who drill into our teeth as long as we can see the parchment on their wall which reads Dentist. ~ Edmond Manning

The day drags through though storms keep out the sun;
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on:
Even as a broken mirror, which the glass
In every fragment multiplies; and makes
A thousand images of one that was,
The same, and still the more, the more it breaks;
And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,
Living in shattered guise, and still, and cold,
And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches,
Yet withers on till all without is old,
Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold. ~ George Gordon Byron

Through the Mud
(from the book Blue Bridge)

A line of robots,
We approach a wall of mud,
Some of us carrying flowers.
The others laugh
Bit when we enter that wall
It is the flowers
That will make us an ark
To carry us on through the darkness,
Sailing through
With our symbols the only light
Until we fly
Out over the fields
On the other side of midnight
And all our wires
And bits of metal fall off.-
And our souls are bright again,
So new and light
They shoot up –
Up to plant our brilliant flowers
Like stars
In the face of heaven. ~ Jay Woodman

Death is the black backing on the mirror that allows us to see anything at all. ~ Saul Bellow

Know Deeply, Know Thyself More Deeply"

Go deeper than love, for the soul has greater depths,
love is like the grass, but the heart is deep wild rock
molten, yet dense and permanent.

Go down to your deep old heart, woman, and lose sight of yourself.
And lose sight of me, the me whom you turbulently loved.

Let us lose sight of ourselves, and break the mirrors.
For the fierce curve of our lives is moving again to the depths
out of sight, in the deep dark living heart.

But say, in the dark wild metal of your heart
is there a gem, which came into being between us?
is there a sapphire of mutual trust, a blue spark?
Is there a ruby of fused being, mine and yours, an inward glint?

If there is not, O then leave me, go away.
For I cannot be bullied back into the appearances of love,
any more than August can be bullied to look like March.

Love out of season, especially at the end of the season
is merely ridiculous.
If you insist on it, I insist on departure.

Have you no deep old heart of wild womanhood
self-forgetful, and gemmed with experience,
and swinging in a strange union of power
with the heart of the man you are supposed to have loved?

If you have not, go away.
If you can only sit with a mirror in your hand, an ageing woman
posing on and on as a lover,
in love with a self that now is shallow and withered, ~ D.H. Lawrence

The warm afternoon, the garden, the tray of empty glasses on the grass, succeeded in conveying foreboding and dissatisfaction; even the roses seemed to threaten violence, brimming over their plots of earth or arrested, scarlet, on the white wall of the house.

A Place in the Country ~ Shirley Hazzard

She flew at the roof, punching through and crashing through this floor and then the next, swerving now, crashing through a wall, sensing the alarm as Kitana turned. Then she was bursting through, barrelling past Doran and Sean, her fists colliding with Kitana's pretty face. She hit Kitana with the speed of a bullet and the poor girl's head came apart. Her momentum took Darquesse through into the next room, and she touched down, laughing. Back in a good mood. She stepped back through the hole in the wall. Doran and Sean were on their knees, staring at what was left of Kitana. ~ Derek Landy

we can never really experience what other people are experiencing. We always remain on the outside looking in, and this is the cause of so many misunderstandings and conflicts. But the primal source of human intelligence comes from the development of mirror neurons (see here), which gives us the ability to place ourselves in the skin of another and imagine their experience. Through continual exposure to people and by attempting to think inside them we can gain an increasing sense of their perspective, but this requires effort on our part. Our natural tendency is to project onto other people our own beliefs and value systems, in ways in which we are not even aware. When it comes to studying another culture, it is only through the use of our empathic powers and by participating in their lives that we can begin to overcome these natural projections and arrive at the reality of their experience. ~ Robert Greene

Art shouldn't be only the aesthetics we hang on the wall, but a dynamic to shape the society. ~ Genco Gulan

Brightly and merrily swaying, like an April shower, came the young lady.

Perhaps if she had been sad and conscience stricken, like certain dames of old who left the site of their illicit love as woe-begone as the passing moment that never returns; if the lady had approached in full cognizance of her frailty, ready to forego a man's respectful handkisses of greeting, and trembling in shame at the tryst exposed in broad daylight, like Risoulette, sixty-six times, whenever having misbehaved, she hastened back home teary-eyed to her Captain; or if a lifelong memory's untearable veil had floated over her fine features, like the otherworldly wimple of a nun . . . Then Pistoli would have stood aside, closed his eyes, swallowed the bitter pill, and come next winter, might have scrawled on the wall something about women's unpredictability. Then he would have glimpsed ghostly, skeletal pelvic bones reflected in his wine goblet, and strands of female hair, once wrapped around the executioner's wrist, hanging from his rafters; and would have heard wails and cackles emanating from the cellar's musty wine casks, but eventually Pistoli would have forgiven this fading memory, simply because women are related to the sea and the moon, and that is why at times they know not what they do. ~ Gyula Krudy

I always liked paintings to be walls rather than windows. When we see a painting on a wall, it's a window, so I often put my paintings in the middle of the space to make a wall. ~ Pierre Soulages