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Subjectivity Quotes

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Subjectivity Quotes

“I often hear the argument that "being a loser is your choice and you should be respected for it," which is not true. Your parents raised you, and you're letting down all their investment in you; your ancestors struggled and died to produce you, and you have an innate loyalty to your society, which provides for you. Similarly, you have a loyalty to yourself and the person you could be, or to an abstract concept like "good." This is how the vast majority of the world throughout history has viewed morality, with modern Western atheist societies being the bizarre exceptions. If you choose to discredit all of that—your family, society, your potential as an individual, or morality—there's something very wrong with you.”

“As understanding deepens, the further removed it becomes from knowledge. An ideal understanding would ultimately result in each party’s unthinkingly going along with the other’s experience – a state of uncritical passivity coupled with the most complete subjectivity and lack of social responsibility. Understanding carried to such lengths is in any case impossible, for it would require the virtual identification of two different individuals. Sooner or later the relationship reaches a point where one partner feels he is being forced to sacrifice his own individuality so that it may be assimilated by that of the other. This inevitable consequence breaks the understanding, for understanding presupposes the integral preservation of the individuality of both partners”

“Those who like to interpret historical facts symbolically may recognize in this the spirit of a specifically "modern" conception of the world which permits the subject to assert itself against the object as something independent and equal; whereas classical antiquity did not as yet permit the explicit formulation of this contrast; and whereas the Middle Ages believed the subject as well as the object to be submerged in a higher unity.”

“Perhaps this is how it is--life flowing smoothly over memory and history, the past returning or not, depending on the tide. History is a collection of found objects washed up through time. Goods, ideas, personalities, surface towards us, then sink away. Some we hook out, others we ignore, and as the pattern changes, so does the meaning. We cannot rely on the facts. Time, which returns everything, changes everything.”

“Even more remote from his way of thinking, even more impossible than any other thought, would have been words such as this: “Is it only I alone who have created this experience, or is it objective reality? Does the Master have the same feelings as I, or would mine amuse him? Are my thoughts new, unique, my own, or have the Master and many before him experienced and thought exactly the same?” No, for him there were no such analyses and differentiations. Everything was reality, was steeped in reality, full of it as bread dough is of yeast.”

“An offering for the sake of offering, perhaps. Anyhow, it was her gift. Nothing else had she of the slightest importance; could not think, write, even play the piano. She muddled Armenians and Turks; loved success; hated discomfort; must be liked; talked oceans of nonsense: and to this day, ask her what the Equator was, and she did not know. All the same, that one day should follow another; Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday; that one should wake up in the morning; see the sky; walk in the park; meet Hugh Whitbread; then suddenly in came Peter; then these roses; it was enough. After that, how unbelievable death was!-that it must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all; how, every instant . . .”

“Before asserting a prognosis on any patient, always be objective and never subjective. For telling a man that he will win the treasure of life, but then later discovering that he will lose, will harm him more than by telling him that he may lose, but then he wins.”

“A hundred francs! Oh, dear me! It is worth millions of francs, my child. But my -- dealer -- here tells me that in fact a picture is worth only what someone will give for it. How much money do you have?" Julia took out her purse and counted. "Four francs and twenty sous," she said, looking up at him sadly. "Is that all the money you have in the world?" She nodded. "Then four francs and twenty sous it is.”

“Great Art” proves that men are superior to women, that men are women, being labeled “Great Art”, almost all of which, as the anti-feminists are fond of reminding us, was created by men. We know that “Great Art” is great because male authorities have told us so, and we can’t claim otherwise, as only those with exquisite sensitivities far superior to ours can perceive and appreciate the greatness, the proof of their superior sensitivity being that they appreciate the siop that they appreciate.”

“Great Art” proves that men are superior to women, that men are women, being labeled “Great Art”, almost all of which, as the anti-feminists are fond of reminding us, was created by men. We know that “Great Art” is great because male authorities have told us so, and we can’t claim otherwise, as only those with exquisite sensitivities far superior to ours can perceive and appreciate the greatness, the proof of their superior sensitivity being that they appreciate the slop that they appreciate.”

“Ambiguity is your ally: an interpretive dance with universal truths, not an observation post. An artist enlightens; the interpreter chooses to bathe in that light. Or, fearing being 'wrong' or lacking critical thinking, they await spoon-feeding. Being Irving The Explainer is not the artist's job. You don't go to an art gallery to ask a painter what their painting means (they have wisely left the scene of the crime!). You either get it or you don't, and it should wash over you and be appreciated either way. Impose the tyranny of explanation upon it, and you may kill any meaning, if there is any to unearth. Artists may not even know their intentions when putting something out into the cosmos. Ambiguity, then, is the fertile hinterland between The Emperor's New Clothes and the Highlands of Pretentiousness.”

“The worst thing you can do to an artist is demand they explain themselves. Stanislavsky said a raised voice has no place in art — nor does cross-examination. An ambiguous space to breathe in is the lifeblood of all creativity. Despite the implied tag of ownership from financial benefactors, the artist must resist becoming a preserved butterfly on a pin for study.”

“We tend to believe things which we can perceive through our senses. Faith as a concept we often hypocritically apply to the satisfaction of our personal desires which we comprehend subjectively. That’s one disadvantage of abstract aspects such as ‘faith’. They are not constant and are defined subjectively, allowing our biases to govern its applicability.”

“In all of my universe I have seen no law of nature, unchanging and inexorable. This universe presents only changing relationships which are sometimes seen as laws by short-lived awareness. These fleshly sensoria which we call self are ephemera withering in the blaze of infinity, fleetingly aware of temporary conditions which confine our activities and change as our activities change. If you must label the absolute, use it's proper name: Temporary.”

“The moment you acknowledge my conscience, you know that I acknowledge one in you, too. That makes all the difference.’ ‘Perhaps,’ said Françoise . . . ‘In short, that is friendship. Each renounces individual self-importance. But what if either refuses to renounce it?’ ‘In that case, friendship is impossible,’ said Pierre. Xavière never renounced any part of herself. No matter how high she placed one, even if it amounted to worship, one remained an object to her.”

“When two things occur successively we call them cause and effect if we believe one event made the other one happen. If we think one event is the response to the other, we call it a reaction. If we feel that the two incidents are not related, we call it a mere coincidence. If we think someone deserved what happened, we call it retribution or reward, depending on whether the event was negative or positive for the recipient. If we cannot find a reason for the two events' occurring simultaneously or in close proximity, we call it an accident. Therefore, how we explain coincidences depends on how we see the world. Is everything connected, so that events create resonances like ripples across a net? Or do things merely co-occur and we give meaning to these co-occurrences based on our belief system? Lieh-tzu's answer: It's all in how you think.”

“A long time ago, I discovered that all I have been taught about the disconnect and the contradiction between the heart and the mind is false and misleading. I have learned to feel with my mind and think with my heart. I have learned that the two are not enemies, but Siamese twins – you can’t silence one without crushing the other, too.”

“I tell my students, who are concerned with the question of betrayal, that when it comes to memoir, there is no such thing as absolute truth—only the truth that is singularly their own. I say this not to release them from responsibility but to illuminate the subjectivity of our inner lives. One person's experience is not another's.”

“ലാപ്‌വിംഗിന്റെ ബുള്ളറ്റ് ഓടിച്ച ആകാശമാണ് ഞാൻ മുങ്ങിയ വെള്ളത്തിൽ നിറച്ച കാട്ടുപോത്തിന്റെ കൊമ്പിൽ നിന്നാണ് ജനിച്ചത് മുത്ത് വേപ്പ് മരത്തിന്റെ ചുവട്ടിൽ നിഷ്‌ക്രിയ കണ്ണിൽ കറുത്ത സുന്ദരിയുടെ മൃദുവായ കൈകാലുകളുടെ അലങ്കാരം ആസ്വദിക്കുകയായിരുന്നു മഴയിൽ നനഞ്ഞ സ്വർണ്ണ-പുഷ്പം കോയിഫ്യൂറിന്റെ കെട്ടഴിച്ചു”

“クリケットの楽譜で歌われるささやきの歌 Hilsaの魚群の色を膣の形をした網の中に閉じ込めている 自由運動中の絞首刑の殉教者のイチジクの木の下 毛虫噛んだ香料入りレモンの葉の角から 石造りのチップ所有者のうなじ坊主ヒロックから空を飛んで”

“আচ্ছন্ন ঢেউয়ের সাথে মেতে উঠি আমি ঝিনুক ও নুড়ির কাছে যাই – জলের যোনিতে বারান্দায় বয়ে আনা হয় তাকে - এলোমেলো শাড়ি বিশৃঙ্খল রেখাগুলি অভ্যন্তর থেকে ভেঙ্গে পড়ে ... কেউ এসে পেটিকোট খুলে দিয়েছিল ফলের শাঁসের মত বুক - হাঁটু গেড়ে স্পর্শ করি হাতের তালুতে, ত্রিপুরার অচেনা শহরে আমি মদ নিয়ে বসি অন্ধদের সাথে, ঘুরে ফিরে একই গান একই অন্ধ গান টুকরো টুকরো কোরে গাওয়া হয় একই শবের ভেলায় উঠে বসি, নীচে থেকে আরও হাত উঠে আসে, ‘আমাকেও তুলে নাও...’ এই যে উলঙ্গ হয়ে বসে আছি আরও এক মগ্নতার ভয়ংকর বুকে, শূন্যতার ভিন্ন এক স্তরে গিয়ে – জানি ঝুলে থাকা হাত তার উঠে বসে, আমাকে জড়াবে ...”

“Think what it would be like to have a work conceived from outside the self, a work that would let us escape the limited perspective of the individual ego, not only to enter into selves like our own but to give speech to that which has no language, to the bird perching on the edge of the gutter, to the tree in spring and the tree in fall, to cement, to plastic.”

“I felt that the metal of my spirit, like a bar of iron that is softened and bent by a persistent flame, was being gradually softened and bent by the troubles that oppressed it. In spite of myself, I was conscious of a feeling of envy for those who did not suffer from such troubles, for the wealthy and the privileged; and this envy, I observed, was accompanied—still against my will—by a feeling of bitterness towards them, which, in turn, did not limit its aim to particular persons or situations, but, as if by an uncontrollable bias, tended to assume the general, abstract character of a whole conception of life. In fact, during those difficult days, I came very gradually to feel that my irritation and my intolerance of poverty were turning into a revolt against injustice, and not only against the injustice which struck at me personally but the injustice from which so many others like me suffered. I was quite aware of this almost imperceptible transformation of my subjective resentments into objective reflections and states of mind, owing to the bent of my thoughts which led always and irresistibly in the same direction: owing also to my conversation, which, without my intending it, alway harped upon the same subject. I also noticed in myself a growing sympathy for those political parties which proclaimed their struggle against the evils and infamies of the society to which, in the end I had attributed the troubles that beset me—a society which, as I thought, in reference to myself, allowed its best sons to languish and protected its worst ones. Usually, and in the simpler, less cultivated people, this process occurs without their knowing it, in the dark depths of consciousness where, by a kind of mysterious alchemy, egoism is transmuted into altruism, hatred into love, fear into courage; but to me, accustomed as I was to observing and studying myself, the whole thing was clear and visible, as though I were watching it happen in someone else; and yet I was aware the whole time that I was being swayed by material subjective factors, that I was transforming purely personal motives into universal reasons.”

“Where in the motion of the stars is morality? Does a lion stop in its tracks to weigh the moral options? Are the seas full of frothing morality, of a turbulent whirlpool of moral dilemmas? Does a shark pause to consider moral issues when it is hunting down a wounded porpoise? Where in the Periodic Table is morality? Which is the Moral Element? What is its atomic number?”

“The insistent drums were an unwelcome reminder of the existence of another world, wholly autonomous, with its own necessities and patterns. The message they were beating out, over and over, was for her; it was saying, not precisely that she did not exist but rather that it did not matter whether she existed or not, that her presence was of no consequence to the rest of the cosmos. It was a sensation that suddenly paralyzed her with dread. There had never been any question of her “mattering”; it went without saying that she mattered, because she was important to herself. But what was the part of her to which she mattered?”

“A young woman faces the decision of whether to marry a certain man whom she loves but who has deeply rooted, traditional ideas concerning marriage, family life, and the roles of men and women in each. A sober assessment of her future tell the woman that each of the two alternatives offers real but contrasting goods. One life offers the possibility of a greater degree of personal independence, the chance to pursue a career, perhaps more risk and adventure, while the other offers the rewards of parenting, stability, and a life together with a man whom, after all, she is in love with. In order to choose in a self-determined mode the woman must realize that the decision she faces involves more than the choice between two particular actions; it is also a choice between two distinct identities. In posing the questions "Who am I? Which of the two lives is really me?" she asks herself not a factual question about her identity but a fundamental practical question about the relative values of distinct and incommensurable goods. The point I take to be implicit in Tugendhat's (and Fichte's) view of the practical subject is that it would be mistaken to suppose that the woman had at her disposal an already established hierarchy of values that she must simply consult in order to decide whether to marry. Rather, her decision, if self-determined, must proceed from a ranking of values that emerges only in the process of reflecting upon the kind of person she wants to be.”

“The event of reading, like the event of loving, is singular. Just as our love for another creates a new reality as it unfolds, each reading of a particular text makes us lovers without precedent. Reading creates in us new ways of loving, and thus new ways of being. Or it can. In order for a book to work on us this way, we have to open ourselves up to an intentionality and signifying practice that originates outside of our own “egological sphere.” Because we cannot anticipate the way we will be changed by an event of reading, we commit ourselves first to the act of surrender itself and, through that surrender of our own intentionality, find ourselves remade.”