My work was my life, and my life was my work, and there was a kind of blur between reality and what was being created.
Men are more sentimental than women. It blurs their thinking.
The supreme accomplishment is to blur the line between work and play.
We meditate so we can see miracles unfolding. Without stillness life is a blur.
There is a grey blur, and a green blur. I try to stay on the grey one.
Photography is painting with light! The blurs, the spots, those are errors! But the errors are part of it, they give it poetry and turn it into painting. And for that you need as bad a camera as possible! If you want to be famous, you have to do whatever you're doing worse than anyone else in the whole world.
My life is like a song and I think I know the words, And as I start to sing along the whole verse becomes a blur. So I freestyle improv, make mistakes and evolve, The obstacles repeat, cause naturally it revolves.
All the time nature is trying to tell us things and we blur her greatness with our little thoughts, our feebleness and flesh.
Love blurs your vision; but after it recedes, you can see more clearly than ever. It's like the tide going out, revealing whatever's been thrown away and sunk: broken bottles, old gloves, rusting pop cans, nibbled fishbodies, bones. This is the kind of thing you see if you sit in the darkness with open eyes, not knowing the future.
Things like that become a blur - shot at some soundstage, somewhere - that's as much as I can remember.
I blur things to make everything equally important and equally unimportant. I blur things so that they do not look artistic or craftsmanlike but technological, smooth and perfect. I blur things to make all the parts a closer fit. Perhaps I also blur out the excess of unimportant information.
When the world throws you too much information, the only way you can stay sane or survive is to look for pattern recognition. Amidst all the blurs, is there a constellation that emerges, is there a straight line that's emerging. I think as long as you keep your mind in the palce where you're actively looking for patterns, you may not be safe, but you're going to feel safe, I think.
The world was not wheeling anymore. It was just very clear and bright and inclined to blur at the edges.
life's kind of like a painting. A really bizarre, abstract painting. You could look at it and think that all it is, is a blur. And you could continue living your life thinking that all it is, is just a blur. But if you really look at it, really see it, focus on it, and use your imagination, life can become so much more. The painting could be of the sea, the sky, people,buildings, a butterfly on a flower, or anything except the blur you were once convinced it was.
After enough concussions the head injuries blur together.
One foot in front of the other, counting tiles on the floor so I don't have to focus the blur of painted smiles, fake faces.
Remember that time slurs over everything, let all deeds fade, blurs all writings and kills all memories. Exempt are only those which dig into the hearts of men by love.
A tear that trembles for a little while Upon the trembling eyelid, till the world Wavers within its circle like a dream, Holds more of meaning in its narrow orb Than all the distant landscape that it blurs.
The biggest possible thing that we're trying to do is change the conversation about what it means to be a working artist today, and hopefully, as the generation of performers that is training and listening to our show at the same time comes up, and becomes a working generation of performers listening to our show-hopefully that's going to change some of the ways they're looking at the hierarchy of theatre and start to blur those lines a bit more.
I think people are like that. When you really look at them, you stop seeing a perfect nose or straight teeth. You stop seeing the acne scar or dimple in the chin. Those things start to blur, and suddenly you see them, the colors, the life inside the shell, and beauty takes on a whole new meaning.
I remember the lights turning into blurs of blazing fire. I remember the air-conditioning chilling my arms. The smell of coffee smudging into the smell of eucalyptus.
Why did happy memories fade and blur until one could scarcely recall them at all, while horrible memories seemed to retain their blinding clarity and painful sharpness?
I have to say that anger is the blanket that comes around me, and that blunts and blurs my sense of proportion.
No matter how noble the objectives of a government, if it blurs decency and kindness, cheapens human life, and breeds ill will and suspicion; it is an evil government.
The camera has an interest in turning history into spectacle, but none in reversing the process. At best, the picture leaves a vague blur in the observer's mind; strong enough to send him into battle perhaps, but not to have him understand why he is going.
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