O may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence; live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude...
People say sometimes that Beauty is superficial. That may be so. But at least it is not so superficial as Thought is. To me, Beauty is the wonder of wonders. It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances. The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.
"I was under the impression that I warned you that in London country ways will not do, Frederica!" "You did!" she retorted. "And although I can't say that I paid much heed to your advice it so happens that I am accompanied today by my aunt!" "Who adds invisibility to her other accomplishments!"
People give flowers as presents because flowers contain the true meaning of love. Anyone tries to possess a flower will have to watch its beauty fading. But if you simply look at a flower on a field, you will keep it forever, because the flower is part of the evening and the sunset and the smell of damp earth and the clouds on the horizon.
"She bowed her head and said, "Lord of hosts, please stand with us against this darkness." The quiet, bedrock-deep energy of true faith brushed against me. Murphy echoed the gesture and the amen. Thomas and I tried to look theologically invisible."
"Silverfish: "He disappeared a few years ago." "Disappeared? How? said Cuddy. "We think," said Silverfish, leaning closer, "that he found a way of making himself invisible." "Really?" "Because," said Silverfish, nodding conspiratorially, "no-one has seen him."
I wondered If things that might seem frightening could lose their hold over you. I wondered If we find the people we need when we need them. I wondered If we attract our future by some sort of invisible force, or If we are drawn to it by a similar force. I felt I was turning a corner and that change was afoot.
"Amanda, you finally decided to answer the phone," her mom exclaimed after picking up at the first ring. "Where've you been, what've you been up to?" "Mom, do you remember when I was a kid, I had a friend, he was a Personification of the Sydney Tar Ponds, sort of my imaginary friend?" Mandy asked. "No, what in the name of god are you on about?" her mom sighed in exasperation. "Remember? Only I could see him, but he was real and he was my best friend when I was eighteen?" Mandy insisted. "No, I don't remember Alecto Sydney Steele at all," said her mom all too quickly."
Man searches constantly for identity, he thought as he trotted along the gravel path. He has no real proof of this existence except for the reaction of other people to that fact. So he listens very closely to what people say to one another about him, whether it's good or bad, because it indicates that he lives in the same world they do, and that all his fears about being invisible, impotent, lacking some mysterious dimension that other people have, are groundless.
As I stare at it,I can feel little invisible strings,silently tugging me toward it. I have to touch it. I have to wear it. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids- and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in a circus sideshow, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination- indeed, everything and anything except me.