Quotes About Life

Youth is in the heart and age is just a number

My destiny is fulfilled. My blood is all gone. My veins are empty. I die.

no unit can ever act or do something outside of their inherent program! Whether you tell yourself this is your choice or you call it your fate, in reality, it is not possible for you to live or strive for something that is not already included in your life purpose and program!

Life is just a jorney between Delete and Recycle Bin !!

Just like water in an aquarium, a mind left to stagnate brings forth death to whichever life that dwells within it

People aren't predestined with a purpose. Like an elaborate lie, we make it up as we go along

The irony of life is that no one gets out of it alive

The lord taketh and the lord taketh away. That is all" --Buck from Mental Hell

To merely exist is the gravest of sins

Life is not like a novel, but a novel can be like life. The best ones always are.

It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make Man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day Is fairer far in May Although it fall and die that night; It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be (Ben Jonson)

As Oscar Wilde put it, Experience is the name we give to our mistakes. No no, Oscar, darl: Experience is the name of the whole darn game.

Yes, even in your mouse moods you only play with the idea of not being." She cleared her throat again. "Biology, you see. It's because of biology that we want to live and not to die. And it is because of biology that we come to a time when we want to die and not to live.

We throw ourselves into the journey and when it's done, even while having learned that all experience involves the loss of something beloved, what is ledt in the residue of memory is love.

Re-entry taught me a new sort of fear that was slow and dull rather than quick and thrilling...the hardest part of reentry to a humdrum life was not recovering from the bad stuff. It was missing the good times, the friendship, intensity, fear, sense of purpose, the sheer exotic escapism of it all.

Christ is, then, the perfect art work in the sense of that reality in whom is realised those goals that all artistic making has as its explicit or implicit ends. Because he is infinite meaning, life and being perfectly synthesised with finite form, the cave painters at Lascaux, or Hesiod penning his hymns, or Beethoven working on his last quartets, were all gesturing towards him though they realised it not.

I have heard the most fantastical gossip about myself and each time I thought, "If only my life were that exciting, fun, outrageous, and sexy". Then again my memory wasn't so sharp when I took drugs. Some of what was said about me might be true. At worst it gave me jerk-off material.

In almost everything that touches our everyday life on earth, God is pleased when we're pleased. He wills that we be as free as birds to soar and sing our maker's praise without anxiety.

Che Guevara] was a man who lived his life in the future tense, in permanent rebellion against the world made by capital and empire, and as fighter for revolutionary transformation of that world.

At the end of the small hours: life flat on its face, miscarried dreams and nowhere to put them, the river of life listless in its hopeless bed, not rising or falling, unsure of its flow, lamentably empty, the heavy impartial shadow of boredom creeping over the quality of all things, the air stagnant, unbroken by the brightness of a single bird.

And suddenly, strength and life charge me like a bull and the tide of life surrounds the taste bud of the morne, and all the veins and veinlets busy themselves with new blood, and the enormous lung of the cyclones breathes and the hoarded fire of volcanoes and the gigantic seismic pulse now beats the measure of a body alive in my firm blazing.

Beware, my body and my soul, beware above all of crossing your arms and assuming the sterile attitude of the spectator, for life is not a spectacle, a sea of griefs is not a proscenium, and a man who wails is not a dancing bear.

And if all I know how to do is speak, it is for you that I shall speak. My lips shall speak for miseries that have no mouth, my voice shall be the liberty of those who languish in the dungeon of despair… And above all my body as well as my soul, beware of folding your arms in the sterile attitude of spectator, for life is not a spectacle, for a sea of pain is not a proscenium.

A man screaming is not a dancing bear. Life is not a spectacle.