Action seems to follow feeling, but really action and feeling go together; and by regulating the action, which is under the more direct control of the will, we can indirectly regulate the feeling, which is not.
Seems
Marriage, it seems, confines every man to his proper rank.
In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning.
Murder, like talent, seems occasionally to run in families.
It seems to me in the past it’s been a good thing, as a writer, to have experiences I hadn’t expected.
Saturn seems to have impressed the seal of melancholy on me from the beginning.
I don’t know how much thought is behind it, but it seems to me highly effective the way that Facebook will let somebody tag a photo with a friend’s name, then others who are a friend of that friend can perhaps immediately see the photo, and the friend, in the meantime, has a chance to wander back and un-tag it.
I think that concrete poetry seems to have, as far as I can see, come to a kind of a dead end. It doesn’t seem to be going any further than it went in its high period of about five or six years ago.
When you have a child, your previous life seems like someone else’s. It’s like living in a house and suddenly finding a room you didn’t know was there, full of treasure and light.
Experience seems to most of us to lead to conclusions, but empiricism has sworn never to draw them.