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All I Quotes

“I’m not suggesting that neural networks are easy. You need to be an expert to make these things work. But that expertise serves you across a broader spectrum of applications. In a sense, all of the effort that previously went into feature design now goes into architecture design and loss function design and optimization scheme design. The manual labor has been raised to a higher level of abstraction.”

“I'm not suggesting that teachers never tell the truth, only that it isn't necessary to do it all the time. Since coming to one's own conclusions is mostly how we learn, the real job of a teacher is to force students to come to sensible conclusions by confronting what they already believe with stuff that is antithetical to those beliefs. A confused person has only 2 choices. Admit he is confused and doesn't care, or resolve the confusion. Resolving the confusion invloves thinking. Teachers can encourage thinking by making sure students have something confusing to think about.”

“I'm not superstitious. I don't believe in knocking on wood, or crossing fingers, or crystal gazing, or any of that. I don't think the cards have any special occult power, though I'm not sure I'd say that outright to a client. But they do ...' She found herself struggling to articulate something she rarely dissected, event o herself. 'They do still have meaning - even if you know nothing about tarot, you can see the richness of the symbolism and the imagery. The ideas they represent ... they're universal forces that bear on all our lives. I suppose what I believe is not that the cards can tell you anything you don't already know, or that they have magical answers to your questions, but that they give you ... they give you the space to question ...? Does that make sense? Whether the statements I make in a reading are true or false, they give the sitter an opportunity to reflect on those forces, to analyze their instincts. I don't know if I'm explaining this right.”

“I’m not sure about all the particulars that led to this moment. Do I believe life is a series of dots to be connected…or that no one can outrun destiny…or that all roads lead to truth and coincidence is a lie to distract us? The reason I was in this place no longer mattered. The harsh reality stared me in the face and demanded an immediate decision. Walk away and blame it on my age. Or stay and try to help a woman who had slowly become my friend over the last few weeks.”

“I'm not sure about this newness I should look forward too, but I know this begins with me trying to become my own rock. I've leaned on Jackson for the better part of this past month and Wade before that. Being my own rock is promising, but it would be a huge lie if I didn't admit that becoming a mountain with someone else could be equally rewarding.”

“I’m not sure Black people can be happy in this world. There’s just too much of a backstory of sadness that’s always clawing at their heels. And no matter how hard you try to outrun it, life always comes through with those reminders letting you know that, more than anything, you’re just a part of an exploited people and a denied destiny and all you can do is hate your past and, by proxy, hate yourself”

“I’m not sure. But there’s something about the darkness, the stillness of this hour, I think, that creates a language of its own. There’s a strange kind of freedom in the dark; a terrifying vulnerability we allow ourselves at exactly the wrong moment, tricked by the darkness into thinking it will keep our secrets. We forget that the blackness is not a blanket; we forget that the sun will soon rise. But in the moment, at least, we feel brave enough to say things we’d never say in the light.”

“I’m not sure feminism should require an adjective. Believing in the full social, political, and economic quality of women, which is what the dictionary says “feminism” means, is enough to make a revolution in itself. But if I had to choose only one adjective, I still would opt for radical feminist. I know our adversaries keep equating that word with violent or man-hating, crazy or extremist—though being a plain vanilla feminist doesn’t keep one safe from such epithets either. Neither does saying, “I’m not a feminist, but.…” Nonetheless, radical seems an honest indication of the fundamental change we have in mind: the false division of human nature into “feminine” and “masculine” is the root of all other divisions into subject and object, active and passive, and—the beginning of hierarchy.”

“I’m not sure how old I was when I first tried looking in the mirror and telling myself, with a shiver of pride and a warning prickle of something like fear, ‘I am the most powerful person in the world.’ In a way, it was true. My hands and mind could do things no one else’s could, but I was too young then to understand that some power—the kind that really matters—comes from other people. And what good is being faster, or stronger, or smarter than everyone else when it leaves you all alone?”

“I'm not sure I can ever repay you, considering I am leaving town for the foreseeable future, but if you have ever need of me, I assure you I will be happy to assist you in any way." The coil of desire that seemed to always possess him in her presence made itself known, tightening deep in his gut. A vision of her on her knees in the carriage repaying him ran through his mind. She was entirely too naive to have meant those words the way his body had taken them. A quick glance at her innocent face assured him that he was every bit the lecher in this scenario. He would not seduce her innocence away from her, not until they were married. That flicker of guilt returned, putting a fine edge of pain on his desire for her. The gossips would have told her that he was not some bastion of virtue. She must know that men like him were to be avoided. He had even heard Lady Helena warn her away. She should have run from him, or at least made him chase her down the pavement, forced to prove his good intentions. But no, she had put her small hand in his and allowed him to help her into his carriage. The wolf leading the innocent astray.”

“I'm not sure I'll ever know the meaning of life or what comes for us after death, but I know it's more than the hysteria people make it out to be. It's about freeing your soul when no one else can; turning thirty and still feeling like you're seventeen. It's about taking chances on a whim, embracing the rain during the storm, and smiling so damn much that you start to cry. It's never regretting, never forgetting, and always being. It's kissing underwater and touching in the dark. Loving even when you think it's emotionally impossible and surviving someway and somehow. It's about living life with a full heart and an overflowing glass. I live life on the edge. I dream, I care, and I belong. I know there's a here and now. I know that I want it.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Hazel said, holding back her anger. “You’re saying I’m supposed to forgive him even though he never said he was sorry?” “Yes, not out of respect for him, but out of respect for yourself. Don’t let any person or situation make you into someone you don’t want to be!”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Hazel said, holding back her anger. “You’re saying I’m supposed to forgive him even though he never said he was sorry?” “Yes, not out of respect for him, but out of respect for yourself. Don’t let any person or situation make you into someone you don’t want to be!” Shane said. “Hasn’t he taken enough from you already? Let him carry the burden of his actions when he crosses over. . . . They’re not yours to carry, and holding on to them only robs you of your happiness. If you can forgive him, knowing he will own his actions during his life review when he crosses over, it will set you free from the heavy burden of being judge and jury.”

“I'm not sure if people understand what it means to be a writer. It's not like it feels so great. I mean, most of the time you are sitting at your desk and bleeding out onto your computer screen, your notepad, your notebook... there's a lot of bleeding that goes on when you're a writer! You don't just work to sell books, you work to bind your wounds and put your skin back together again after opening yourself up all over the place! I don't know how other writers write... but this is how I write.”

“I'm not sure if the question's rhetorical or if she thinks I have a clue to her metaphysical mystery. And I'm in no state to answer either way because I'm crying. I don't realize it till I taste the sale against my lips. I can't remember the last time I've cried but, once I accept the mortification of sniveling like a baby, the floodgates open and I'm sobbing now, in front of Mia. In front of the whole damn world.”

“I'm not sure intentions make much difference in the end. I hear the road to hell is paved with them. She meant it frivolously, but Olivia answered seriously, "Yes, but one does have to live with one's self." "Not necessarily...There are any number of ways to avoid living with one's self. Gin, for example." "Yes, but you're still there at the base of it aren't you. Only with a terrible head in the morning.”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “There’s no one answer to that. You have to find your own way. Sometimes I try to erase myself. I imagine a big pink soft soap eraser, and it’s going back and forth, back and forth, and it starts down at my toes, back and forth, back and forth, and there they go-poof!-my toes are gone. And then my feet. And then my ankles. But that’s the easy part. The hard part is erasing my senses-my eyes, my ears, my nose, my tongue. And last to go is my brain. My thoughts, memories, all the voices inside my head. That’s the hardest, erasing my thoughts.” She chuckled faintly. “My pumpkin. And then, if I’ve done a good job, I’m erased. I’m gone. I’m nothing. And then the world is free to flow into me like water into an empty bowl.”

“I'm not sure that my friend's father liked my book. In an attempt to save me from my own imagination, he wrote me a six-page letter pointing out all the physical impossibilities and imaginary rules I had come up with to be able to say whatever the book says. The letter proves that the true art is reading, not writing, and it is a beautiful testament of loyalty: a friend of his son's is a friend of his. Commenting on some sexual incidents described in the novel, he noted: Now I know why you and my son are friends." This is a statement of complicity. It tells me that if we knew each other, he would forgive my defects just as he does his son's.”

“I'm not sure we'll have much to your liking, other than the roasted vegetables. We Southerners are all about refined sugar and flours." "You don't eat sugar or flour?" Sam's eyebrows reached his hairline. "God, what else is there? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm a carnivore through and through, but I couldn't live without breads and desserts." "Sam!" Poppy gave him a disapproving look. Maybe she could polish my brother, although I doubted it. Javier ladled several scoops of chicken and dumplings onto his plate. "I try to eat clean. But it's not as if I don't ever splurge. I love a grain-free veggie pizza with no cheese." The table gasped. "Veggie pizza with no cheese!" Meemaw looked appalled. "That's not pizza! What's the point without the cheese?" Javy passed the tureen to Betsy, who scowled at her grandmother. "It's still pizza, Meemaw. I might try that sometime." Alex choked on a sip of tea. I elbowed him as Betsy leaned around Javy to glare at her cousin. "I agree that on occasion, you gotta splurge." Alex laughed under his breath. "Cheese is your favorite food group, Bets." The idea of Betsy eating clean really seemed to tickle his funny bone. He was lucky she wasn't sitting closer to him. He'd pay later. Her knuckles were white as she gripped her knife. "And yours is beer foam." The table went silent.”

“I'm not sure what form I expected the threat to take; a police car actually stopping outside, a powerfully built black man darting up the drive? I had several dreams of siege, in which the house became a frail slatted box, shadowy and exquisite within, the walls all cracked and bleached louvres which fell to powder as one brushed against them. In one dream Arthur and I were there, and others, old school friends, a gaggle of black kids from the Shaft, my grandfather tearful and hopeless. We knew we had no chance of surviving the violence that surrounded us, closing in fast, and I was gripped by a nauseating terror. I woke up in the certain knowledge that I was about to die: the bedsprings were ticking from the sprinting vehemence of my heartbeat. I didn't dare go back to sleep and after a while sat up and read, while Arthur slept deeply beside me. It took days to lose the mood of the dream, and its power to prickle my scalp. The neighbourhood seemed eerily impregnated with it, and its passing made possible a new confidence, as if a sentence had been lifted.”

“I’m not sure what made me think God would choose to reveal himself to little ol’ me. I think I believed that if I pleaded often and hard enough, he would see how sincere I was and grant my request, kind of like Linus and the Great Pumpkin. My sincerity would win him over so he would choose my pumpkin patch -- or, in this case, my bedroom -- to make a brief personal appearance. Unfortunately, that never happened.”

“I'm not sure what's in those treats. According to the labels, the ones in the blue cartons are flavored with chicken, the ones in the red cartons taste like meat and the ones in the pink cartons contain tuna. My guess is that all three are full of high-grade crack. There is nothing my stepcat, the junkie, will not do to get these treats. He will leap over a can of tuna to get to them. He will break into a cage filled with rabid pit bulldogs to get to them. He will confess is sins on Oprah Winfrey's show to get them.”

“I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I'm not Justin Silverstone's biggest fan, but he's not a bad guy. Despite the mistakes he made in the past, he recently helped us destroy Anima from inside out. He's proven himself. And yet, the moment he put his arm around Camilla and turned on his megawatt smile, Ive wanted to open him up from navel to nose, just to play Operation. Same way I reacted when the waiter touched her. I think I'm on my period.”