Quotes About Philosophy

It might be possible that the world itself is without meaning.

I don't believe in aging. I believe in forever altering one's aspect to the sun.

She thought there were no Gods; no one was to blame; and so she evolved this atheist's religion of doing good for the sake of goodness.

Indeed there has never been any explanation of the ebb and flow in our veins--of happiness and unhappiness.

Are we so made that we have to take death in small doses daily or we could not go on with the business of living?

Thoughts are divine.

Intellectual freedom depends upon material things.

I [who] am perpetually making notes in the margin of my mind for some final statement...

Would there be trees if we didn't see them?

I like people to be unhappy because I like them to have souls.

What did it mean to her, this thing she called life? Oh, it was very queer.

My notion's to think of the human beings first and let the abstract ideas take care of themselves.

Millions of things came back to her. Atoms danced apart and massed themselves. But how did they compose what people called a life?

Those great wars which the body wages with the mind a slave to it, in the solitude of the bedroom against the assault of fever or the oncome of melancholia, are neglected. Nor is the reason far to seek. To look these things squarely in the face would need the courage of a lion tamer; a robust philosophy; a reason rooted in the bowels of the earth.

People are—nothing more.

There is nothing more tedious, puerile, and inhumane than love; yet it is also beautiful and necessary.

Looking upwards, she speculates still more ambitiously upon the nature of the moon, and if the stars are blazing jellies; looking downwards she wonders if the fishes know that the sea is salt; opines that our heads are full of fairies, 'dear to God as we are'; muses whether there are not other worlds than ours, and reflects that the next ship may bring us word of a new one. In short, 'we are in utter darkness'. Meanwhile, what a rapture is thought!

Thinking was torment; why not give up thinking, and drift and dream?

Oh! thought Clarissa, in the middle of my party, here's death, she thought.

Intellectual freedom depends upon material things. Poetry depends upon intellectual freedom.

The brain is always thinking, but who is it who is thinking?

Are you aware that you are, perhaps, the most discussed animal in the universe?

And if literature is not the Bride and Bedfellow of Truth, what is she? 'Confound it all.' he cried, 'why say Bedfellow when one's already said Bride? Why not simply say what one means and save it?

Later she wasn't so positive perhaps; she thought there were no Gods; no one was to blame; and so she evolved this atheist's religion of doing good for the sake of goodness.