Imperfect Quotes
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Genius must ever be imperfect. Life is not long enough nor slow enough for both brain and character to grow side by side to superhuman proportions.
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It is precisely from the regret left by the imperfect work that the next one can be born.
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It is possible to reclaim your future, to build a happy life despite an imperfect past. We can order the universe to our will and mind.
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The enso contains the perfect and imperfect; that is why it is always complete.
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Worry is often a symptom of imperfect information.
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True perfection has to be imperfect. I know that sounds foolish, but it's true.
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The earth incites the wonder and admiration of man even though he is imperfect and his understanding greatly limited.
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The biblical model is that God deliberately chooses imperfect vessels - those who have been wounded, those with physical or emotional limitations. Then he prepares them to serve and sends them out with their weakness still evident, so that his strength can be made perfect in that weakness.
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To follow imperfect, uncertain, or corrupted traditions, in order to avoid erring in our own judgment, is but to exchange one danger for another.
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We are all imperfect. We can not expect perfect government.
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Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him; it was blessedness and love!
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Sometimes we give too much too soon. Sometimes we hold back for too long. This is our beautiful dance. Our imperfect dance. This is the dance that makes us human.
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Shame is like the weaver's thread; if it breaks in the net, it is wholly imperfect.
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The pacifist streak in German politics is a problem. But Greens and Social Democrats have to ask themselves: In an imperfect world, what do they prefer? The rise of the right or the success of the European project?
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How can the mind be so imperfect?" she says with a smile. I look at my hands. Bathed in the moonlight, they seem like statues, proportioned to no purpose. "It may well be imperfect," I say, "but it leaves traces. And we can follow those traces, like footsteps in the snow." "Where do the lead?" "To oneself," I answer. "That's where the mind is. Without the mind, nothing leads anywhere." I look up. The winter moon is brilliant, over the Town, above the Wall. "Not one thing is your fault," I comfort her.
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The rationalism of the creative minds was tempered by abundant fantasies, and the supreme beauty of the monuments was probably spoiled by the circumambient vanities and ugliness; in a few cases the Greeks came as close to perfection as it was possible to do, yet they were human and imperfect.
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I didn't believe in systems. Everything human was imperfect and ultimately absurd. What did I believe in then? In humor. In laughing at systems, at people, at one's self. In laughing even at one's need to laugh all the time. In seeing life as contradictory, many-sided, various, funny, tragic, and with moments of outrageous beauty. In seeing life as a fruitcake, including delicious plums and bad peanuts, but meant to be devoured hungrily all the same because you couldn't feast on the plums without also sometimes being poisoned by the peanuts.
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All of us are imperfect human beings living in an imperfect world.
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A certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect.
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I am nothing; I am but an instrument, a tiny pencil in the hands of the Lord with which He writes what he likes. However imperfect we are, he writes beautifully.
