Quotes About Philosophy

O por el contrario, si fue así, pudo ser, y si así fuera, sería; pero como no es, no es. ¡Es pura lógica!

People have asked the question Can a Thing exist without any Attributes belonging to it? It is a very puzzling question, and I'm not going to try to answer it: let us turn up our noses, and treat it with contemptuous silence, as if it really wasn't worth noticing.

there were lovely things in the world, lovely that didn't endure, and the lovelier for that... Nothing endures.

Ritual, art, poesy, drama, music, dance, philosophy, science, myth, religion are all as essential to man as his daily bread: man's true life consists not alone in the work activities that directly sustain him, but in the symbolic activities which give significance both to the processes of work and their ultimate products and consummations.

Moment to moment, it turns out, is not God's conception, or nature's. It is man conversing with himself about and through a piece of machinery he created. We effectively became "time-keepers, and then time-savers, and now time-servers" with the invention of the clock.

Das Firmament blaut ewig und die Erde Wird lange fest stehen und aufblühn im Lenz. Du aber, Mensch, wie lange lebst denn du?

So. Tell me," Marlowe tried gamely, "what do you think is man's greatest invention?" Jericho turned his head just slightly toward Marlowe, looking him straight in the eye. "God.

Oh, sure. Of course, they say now that we've got Freud and the motorcar, God is dead." "He's not dead; just very tired.

But if you abandoned the idea that such a paradise awaited you, and believed that you would live this life over and over again, would you not live the life you had more thoughtfully?

What do I want? Why is that simple question - four little words - so impossible to answer?

See, the trouble with Nietzsche, besides his being a real killjoy, is that he thinks like a spoiled seven-year-old who doesn't want to share his sandbox toys—" "Sam!

Why must we die when everything within us was born to live?

Why are you here?" Marian's

He didn't believe in miracles. If he'd had any philosophy in life in ran along the lines of the classic shit happens. Usually it was bad shit, sometimes it was good shit, but it was always random shit. You lived your life, & when the run was ended, that was it. Nothing.

Slavegirls' brats, sir, are not heralded by proud fathers in the 'Daily Gazette.' The fact that I exist is marked only by my standing here before you, blood and bone decked out in a new dress. The modern philosophers may grant me a soul, but nobody – lord, nobody – burdens me with a fate to be foreseen!

In Austin, someone has scrawled on the bathroom wall of a cafe on Congress Street, 'I don't know if you or I exist, but somewhere there are poems about us.

He would point to some spot or other near the latrines. "There," he would say, pushing a bit of bread about inside his mouth, "on the sixth of February at five o'clock in the afternoon I began my memorable discussion with Professor K. on the ramifications of Leibniz's doctrine of monads in the thought of our day.

No, my fatalism is yet not as primitive as that. It is rather the logical outcome of unfortunate experiences with the consistent application of intelligence.

Welcome Good! Welcome Evil!" a German poet once wrote, and ever since I was a boy I had revolved an apophthegm from the Talmud in my mind. Of evil it said: "Gam su letovo" ("That too is all for the best").

Marile hot?râri trebuiesc luate de unul singur, în privinÈ›a asta nu pot fi de folos nici un maestru È™i nici o filozofie. În clipele de grea cump?n? omul nu mai poate face apel decât la propria raÈ›iune, la propria sa inim?, la propria sa persoan?.

The paradox is that liberalism is concerned with the emotions above all else, as proof of which the word happiness stands at the very center of its thought, but in its effort to establish the emotions, or certain among them, in some sort of freedom, liberalism somehow tends to deny them in their full possibility.

It was his notion that the moment one of the people took one of the truths to himself, called it his truth, and tried to live his life by it, he became a grotesque and the truth he embraced became a falsehood.

SpecWar superstuds were not Arnold Schwarzenegger. They were Buddhist monks.

This so-called contemporary art is not a form, but a philosophy of society.