Quotes About Experience

At twenty a man is full of fight and hope. He wants to reform the world. When he is seventy he still wants to reform the world, but he know he can't.

The love of nature comes with maturing years and is one of the few compensations for growing old.

This book comes from the reflections and experience of more than forty years spent in court. Aside from the practice of my profession, the topics I have treated are such as have always held my interest and inspired a taste for books that discuss the human machine with its manifestations and the causes of its varied activity.

Information's pretty thin stuff unless mixed with experience.

Age should not have its face lifted, but it should rather teach the world to admire wrinkles as the etchings of experience and the firm line of character.

I ask myself: is every story that has ever been written in this world, a story of suffering and affliction?

Here is a moment of extravagant beauty: I drink it liquid from the shells of my hands and almost all of it runs sparkling through my fingers: but beauty is like that, it is a fraction of a second, quickness of a flash and then immediately it escapes.

She wasn't crying because of the life she led: because, never having led any other, she'd accepted that with her that was just the way things were. But I also think she was crying because, through the music, she might have guessed there were other ways of feeling

To think is an act. To feel is a fact.

I' is merely one of the world's instantaneous spasms.

What I'm writing to you is not for reading— it's for being.

To eat communion bread will be to taste the world's indifference, and to immerse myself in nothingness.

Whoever wishes may accompany me: the road is long, it's painful but it's lived.

When I think of what I already lived through it seems to me I was shedding my bodies along the paths.

How living hurt. Living was an open wound.

Because there are times when a person needs a little bitty death and doesn't even know it. As for me, I substitute the act of death for a symbol of it. A symbol that can be summed up in a deep kiss but not on a rough wall but mouth-to-mouth in the agony of pleasure that is death. I, who symbolically die several times just to experience the resurrection

Actually even the worst childhood is always enchanted, how awful.

I must not forget, I thought, that I have been happy, that I am being happier than one can be. But I forgot, I've always forgotten.

things are very delicate. People tread upon them with too many human feet, with too many sentiments. Only the delicacy of innocence or only the delicacy of the initiate senses its almost nonexistent taste. Before, I needed seasoning for everything, and in that way I skipped over the thing and tasted the taste of the seasoning.

I feel as though I've already achieved what I wanted and I still don't know what I achieved. Could that be the somewhat dubious and elusive thing vaguely called 'experience'?

I don't want to have the terrible limitation of those who live merely from what can make sense. Not I: I want an invented truth. What shall I tell you? I shall tell you the instants. I go too far and only then do I exist and in a feverish way.

My old life was necessary to me because it was precisely its error that made me take up imagining a hope that, without the life that I led, I wouldn't have known.

And I walk on a tightrope up to the edge of my dream. Guts tortured by voluptuousness guide me, fury of impulses. Before I organise myself, I must disorganize myself internally. To experience that first and fleeting primary state of freedom. Of the freedom to err, fall and get up again.

Living leaves me atremble.