Quotes About Life

I'm definitely doing better. I never realized that I would get the support that I've gotten from everybody - from my fans, to people that I've idolized my whole life. So it's overwhelming, it's amazing and I believe that everything happens for a reason so I'm in a really good place right now.

Neither heavenly nor earthly, neither mortal nor immortal have we created thee, so that thou mightest be free according to thy own will and honor, to be thy own creator and builder. To thee alone we gave growth and development depending on they own free will. Thou bearest in thee the germs of a universal life.

As Henry David Thoreau, one of the great explorers of his time, reminded himself in his journal, "It matters not where or how far you travel—the farther commonly the worse—but how much alive you are." Two

Death undoes us less, sometimes, than the hope that it will never come.

Writing of every kind is a way to wake oneself up and keep as alive as when one has just fallen in love.

Everywhere you turned, everything was happening, and everything that was happening took you away from all abstraction and into something human, where answers weren't so easy.

Suffering is the central fact of life, from his Buddhist viewpoint; it's what we do with it that defines our lives.

Even as we fret about the changes our progress wreaks in the air and on the airwaves, in forests and on streets, we hardly worry about the change it is working in ourselves, the new kind of soul that is being born out of a new kind of life. Yet this could be the most dangerous development of all, and the least examined. " -Pico Iyer

You're not writing a biography?" Mike now asked. "Oh no. The opposite. A counterbiography, as it were. I don't think you find someone by going to where he lived, least of all someone as shifting and undomesticated as Greene. I'm interested in the things that lived inside him. His terrors and obsessions. Not the life, as it were, but what it touched off in the rest of us.

And the question at the heart of every one was as simple as it was unanswerable: how make peace and passion rhyme?

I decided that I would no longer seek out holy places in [a] city of temples. I would just let life come to me in all its happy confusion and find the holiness in that.

Dying is the art we have to master, it seems to say— not death; late love settles into us as spring romances never could.

Io divoro la mia esistenza con un appetito insaziabile. Come finirà tutto ciò, lo ignoro.

Era come una mano di colore data sul venticello, sui muri gialletti della borgata, sui prati, sui carretti, sugli autobus coi grappoli agli sportelli. Una mano di colore ch'era tutta l'allegria e la miseria delle notti dell'estate del presente e del passato.

Poor as the poor myself, I cling tight, like them, to demeaning hopes; like them, every day of my life I fight/just to live/Yet in my disheartening condition as one of the dispossessed, I still possess--and it's the most thrilling of bourgeois possessions, the ultimate state of being. Yet as I possess history, I am possessed by it, I am enlightened by it: but what good is the light?

When it's harder to live, is life more absolute? On my mute senses evening shores, also mute is the old reason defining my selfhood: it is an inner path a silent underwood where all is nature. Toilsome labor of obscure existence, you alone are necessary... And gently you drive me beyond human boundaries

I «destinati a essere morti» non hanno certo gioventù splendenti: ed ecco che essi ti insegnano a non splendere. E tu splendi, invece, Gennariello.

Ed era sempre chiaro che, per vivere, m'era necessario non vivere, restare ingenuo, ignaro.

Io guardo in questi ragazzi il riso dei loro morti quando venivano in chiesa, e, cantando, credevano di essere vivi per sempre. Ma gli anni spariti nel paese non sono mai trascorsi. Questa è una loro alba, e noi, noi siamo i morti.

The mark which has dominated all my work is this longing for life, this sense of exclusion, which doesn't lessen but augments this love of life.

Once life is finished it acquires a sense; up to that point it has not got a sense; its sense is suspended and therefore ambiguous.

We survive, in the confusion of a life reborn beyond reason.

The sense comes back to me of life as it always was then, an affliction even blinder because wondrously filled with sweetness.

If I then discovered a cancer in myself and died, I'd consider it a victory of that reality of things.