Nothing perhaps is more surprising in this world of ours than the almost infinite diversity of its appearances.
—Hannah Arendt, The Life of the Mind
Remind thyself that he whom thou lovest is mortal, that what thou lovest is not thine own; it is given thee for the present, not irrevocably nor for ever, but even as a fig or a bunch of grapes at the appointed season of the year.
‘Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call,
But the joint force and full result of all.
—Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism
Visible and mobile, my body is a thing among things; it is caught in the fabric of the world. But because it moves itself and sees, it holds things in a circle around itself; they are incrusted into its flesh, they are a part of its full definition.
—Maurice Merleau-Ponty, “Eye and Mind”