#collect

I don't collect any memorabilia. I wish I'd have kept everything I had. But who knew you had to keep it. Just gave it away. And we lost so much and we didn't look after a lot of it. ↗

— Ringo Starr

#any #away #collect #everything #gave

My first recollection is that of a bugle call. ↗

— Douglas MacArthur

#call #first #recollection

Every civilian's death diminishes us, collectively. ↗

— David Petraeus

#collectively #death #diminishes #every #us

Film is a collective experience, as you know. ↗

— Sydney Pollack

#experience #film #know #you

I'm collector of stuff that people make with their brain. I keep them in little jars and I take them out and play with them sometimes too. The stuff, not the people. ↗

— Frances Winkler

#brains #collectors #people #stuff #art

Truth is beauty ↗

— Lisi Harrison

#block #clique #crown #forgiveness #life

But only part of him was listening. Another part, even if it hadn't read Chomsky or Jung or Sheldrake—who had time for dead guys anyway?— at least had a basic understanding of what those guys had gone on about. Quantum nonlocality, quantum consciousness—Desjardins had seen too many cases of mass coincidence to dismiss the idea that nine billion human minds could be imperceptibly interconnected somehow. He’d never really thought about it much, but on some level he’d believed in the Collective Unconscious for years. He just hadn’t realized that the fucking thing had a death wish. ↗

— Peter Watts

#hundredth-monkey #polygenesis #death

I'm sorry to disappoint you, but my experience belongs to me, not the collective bloody unconscious. ↗

— Ian Mcewan

#experience #individual #society #experience

She led the way. Eyeless sockets of the dead seemed to stare at them as they passed. "These are cool," Dan decided. "Maybe I could-" "No, Dan," Amy said. "You can't collect human bones." "Awww. ↗

— Rick Riordan

#bones #collect #dan-cahill #humor #humor

He needed the people and the clamour around him. There was no questions and no doubts when he stood on a platform over a sea of faces; the air was heavy, compact, saturated with a single solvent-admiration; there was no room for anything else. He was great; great as the number of people who told him so. He was right; right as the number of people who believed it. He looked at the faces, at the eyes, he saw himself born in them, he saw himself granted the gift of life. That was Peter Keating, that, the reflection in those staring pupils, and his body was only it's reflection. ↗

— Ayn Rand

#convention #society #life