Quotes About Life

I made orange juice from concentrate and showed her the trick of squeezing the juice of one real orange into it. It removes the taste of being frozen. She marveled at this, and I laughed and said, Life is easy. What I meant was, Life is easy with you here, and when you leave, it will be hard again.

Most of life is offline, and I think it always will be; eating and aching and sleeping and loving happen in the body. But it's not impossible to imagine losing my appetite for those things; they aren't always easy, and they take so much time. In twenty years I'd be interviewing air and water and heat just to remember they mattered.

You know what? Forget what I just said. You're already a part of this. You will eat, you will laugh at stupid things, you will stay up all night just to see what it feels like, you will fall painfully in love, you will have babies of your own, you will doubt and regret and yearn and keep a secret. You will get old and decrepit, and you will die, exhausted from all that living. That is when you get to die. Not now.

Try not to base your decision on this room, it isn't representative of the whole world. Somewhere the sun is hot on a rubbery leaf, clouds are making shapes and reshaping and reshaping, a spiderweb is broken but still works.

I supposed this was one reason why people got married, to make a fiction that was tellable. It wasn't just movies that couldn't contain the full cast of characters — it was us. We had to winnow life down so we knew where to put our tenderness and attention; and that was a good, sweet thing. But together or alone, we were still embedded in a kaleidoscope, ruthlessly varied and continuous, until the end of the end.

I was wondering if my life, the life in which I had a son and a beautiful, young girlfriend, could exist outside of the hospital. Or was the hospital its container? Was I like honey thinking it's a small bear, not realizing the bear is just the shape of its bottle?

Nothing really mattered, and nothing could be lost.

You know what? Forget what I just said. You're already a part of this. You will eat, you will laugh at stupid things, you will stay up all night just to see what it feels like, you will fall painfully in love, you will have babies of your own, you will doubt and regret and yearn and keep a secret. You will get old and decrepit, and you will die, exhausted from all that living.

I would always be earthbound; he hadn't robbed me of my ability to fly or to live forever. I appreciated nuns now, not the conscripted kind, but modern women who chose it. If you were wise enough to know that this life would consist mostly of letting go of things you wanted, then why not get good at the letting go, rather than the trying to have?

That is my problem with life, I rush through it, like I'm being chased.

And it struck me that maybe True magazine had been wrong. Maybe there are no New Men. Maybe there are only the living and the dead, and all those who are living deserve each other and are equal to each other.

But as the sun rose I crested the mountain of my self-pity and remembered I was always going to die at the end of this life anyway. What did it really matter if I spent it like this...as opposed to some other way? ...If you were wise enough to know that this life would consist mostly of letting go of things you wanted, then why not get good at the letting go, rather than the trying to have?

The singer was lifted up and illuminated with gratitude, not for any one thing, but for the whole of his life, even for the agony. Even in Latin you could tell he was thanking God for the agony in particular, for the way it allowed him to cleave so tightly to the world.

I had forgotten about the baby. Until then she had been giving birth to birth—to contractions and noises and liquids. There was someone in there. We

Everyone knows that if you paint a human being entirely with house paint he will live, as long as you don't paint the bottom of his feet. It takes only a little thing like this to kill a person.

You will eat, you will laugh at stupid things, you will stay up all night just to see what it feels like, you will fall painfully in love, you will have babies of your own, you will doubt and regret and yearn and keep a secret. You will get old and decrepit, and you will die, exhausted from all that living.

Food seemed impossibly strange. Children thought I was a child and tried to play with me, but I could neither play nor work, I could only wonder why. Why do people live at all.

Romance. My utter lack of friends who shared my interests. Romance. The Soul. Romance. Life on other planets. Romance.

FrumuseÈ›ea, dup? cuvintele lui Dostoievski, va salva lumea, È™i nu mai înÈ›elegem ce înseamn? "a salva". Ce s? salvezi, când tr?im în imanen?? È™i aleatoriu?

Toate mi s-au p?rut cu neputin?? de suportat, ca ÅŸi cînd ai vrea s? Å£ii mîna pe un fier înroÅŸit. Nici nu ÅŸtia c? exiÅŸti cînd ÅŸi le-a f?cut, iar faptul c? ai pierdut momente atît de preÅ£ioase din viaÅ£a ei c? a risipit atîta emoÅ£ie pentru altcineva decît pentru tine, chiar dac? pentru nimeni, este de neînÅ£eles, de netr?it.

Dac? n-ar fi fost mama È™i tata, prelungiri limpezi dincolo de naÈ™terea mea, È™i care st?teau jum?tate îngropaÈ›i în nisipul timpului, aÈ™ fi crezut È™i eu c? lumea începuse cu mine.

Cu neputin?? de spus de ce tr?iesc pe lume unii oameni, care m?nânc? pe apucate, beau pe apucate, dorm pe apucate È™i plodesc pe apucate, niciodat? cu un gând pentru ziua de mâine, niciodat? cu o strângere de inim? pentru ziua de ieri.

Lumea devenea mic? ?i ea era u?or de tr?it.

De levenslijn van ons echte bestaan verhardt tijdens onze voorbijgang, versteent tot een fossiel en krijgt de samenhang, maar ook de eenvoud van het noodlot, terwijl al onze levens die hadden kunnen zijn, die zich op ieder willekeurig moment van het winnende bestaan hadden kunnen losmaken, spookachtige stippellijntjes blijven: creoden, kwantumfaseovergangen, doorzichtig en fascinerend als de bollen die vegeteren in een bloemkas.