But my dear man, reality is only a Rorschach ink-blot, you know.
It was Kovacs who said "Mother" then, muffled under latex. It was Kovacs who closed his eyes. It was Rorschach who opened them again.
Google is a global Rorschach test. We see in it what we want to see. Google has built an infrastructure that makes a lot of dreams closer to reality.
What was once called the objective world is a sort of Rorschach ink blot, into which each culture, each system of science and religion, each type of personality, reads a meaning only remotely derived from the shape and color of the blot itself
I sat on the bed. I looked at the Rorschach blot. I tried to make it look like a spreading tree, shadows pooled beneath it, but it didn't. It looked more like a dead cat I once found, the fat, glistening grubs writhing blindly, squirming over each other, frantically tunneling away from the light. But even that isn't the real horror. The horror is this: in the end, it is simply a picture of empty meaningless blackness.
Nothing is insoluble. Nothing is hopeless. Not while there's life.
Heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says, "Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up." Man bursts into tears. Says, "But doctor...I am Pagliacci.
Reality is the original Rorschach.
None of you understand. I'm not locked up in here with YOU. You're locked up in here with ME.
This city is dying of rabies. Is the best I can do to wipe random flecks of foam from its lips?
No. Not even in the face of Armageddon. Never compromise.
The point is that (little-t) truth is a matter of definition relative to the grid one is using at the moment, and that (capital-T) Truth, metaphysical reality, is irrelevant to grids entirely. Pick a grid, and through it some chaos appears ordered and some appears disordered. Pick another grid, and the same chaos will appear differently ordered and disordered. Reality is the original Rorschach. Verily! So much for all that.
American love — like coke in green glass bottles...they don't make it anymore.
No, my friend. We are lunatics from the hospital up the highway, psycho-ceramics, the cracked pots of mankind. Would you like me to decipher a Rorschach for you?
Once a man has seen society's black underbelly, he can never turn his back on it. Never pretend, like you do, that it doesn't exist.
History is a Rorschach test, people. What you see when you look at it tells you as much about yourself as it does about the past.
I wanted to make a massive work so as soon as Nick Mitzevich invited me I said yes straight away and began to make the work. The island was made in direct response. I used the diagnostic tool of Rorschach blots - something designed to extract and evaluate the dark and unconscious elements of our personality.
[When the Gospel seems to be interpreted in different ways] is the obvious challenge, perhaps even danger, here. By its very nature as a custodial office, the papacy can't be a Rorschach test, into which people read whatever they like - whatever they fear or hope for.
I am fond of reminding my yoga students of the saying "It takes one to know one" when they become lost I condemnation and judgment of others. The world that we perceive is a reflection of our own states of mind and reveals our own level of consciousness. The world is little more than a Rorschach blot in which we see our own desire systems projected. We see what we want to see. (116)
A book collection is a cross between a Rorschach test and This Is Y our Life. It marks your life clearly like rings on a tree.
Weddings are giant Rorschach tests onto which everyone around you projects their fears, fantasies, and expectations - many of which they've been cultivating since the day you were born.
At the very beginning, I said my life and Playboy are a Rorschach test. It's a culmination of the dreams and fantasies and prejudices you bring to the table
Rorschach: Used to come here often, back when we were partners. Dreiberg: Oh. Uh, yeah... yeah, those were great times, Rorschach. Great times. Whatever happened to them? Rorschach: [exiting] You quit.
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