Quotes About Existence

Das ist so ein dichterischer Unsinn – die Reihenfolge der Tage. Es gibt keinerlei Reihenfolge, die Tage kommen, wann es ihnen passt, manchmal auch ein paar auf einmal. Es kommt auch vor, dass ein Tag lange nicht kommt. Dann lebt man in die Leere, begreift nichts und ist recht krank. Und andere Leute auch, sind auch krank, aber sie halten den Mund.

For the soul there is never birth nor death. Nor having once been, does he ever cease to be. He is unborn, undying, primeval. He is not slain when the body is slain.

Life is there ahead of you and either one tests oneself in its challenges or huddles in the valleys of a dreamless day-to-day existence whose only purpose is the preservation of a illusory security and safety. The latter is what the vast majority of people choose to do, fearing the adventure into the unknown.

A novel is balanced between a few true impressions and the multitude of false ones that make up most of what we call life. It tells us that for every human being there is a diversity of existences, that the single existence is itself an illusion in part, that these many existences signify something, tend to something, fulfill something; it promises us meaning, harmony, and even justice.

We are all such accidents. We do not make up history and culture. We simply appear, not by our own choice. We make what we can of our condition with the means available. We must accept the mixture as we find it the impurity of it, the tragedy of it, the hope of it.

I am simply a human being, more or less.

in which man can have the chance to live by values that give meaning to life.

Life is nothing but the little time which spend in a park called the world after the time u cannot stay there.

Mel Burnstien. you gotta learn to enjoy life Tony.Every day above above ground is a good day

Života, stejn? jako sn?.

If you discovered that you were the only person in the world, and everything you see around you was in fact a part of you, dramatised, how would that change what you are doing right now, right this very instant? What would you stop doing? What would you start doing? What would suddenly not matter at all?

Oh, I've been around since the Greeks. Anyway, part of being a god is doing things to destroy yourself. It's like being a human. We're all trapped in the same economy.

The release of souls from this embodied life into a celestial disembodied existence is not a biblical notion. The opposite is the case with Jesus and for the entire Bible.

They say that God is watching everyone all the time, so he'd always get to see his jokes play out. If so, he's laughing his butt off, assuming God has a butt, which is unlikely, since butts are also an obvious practical joke.

I get mail; therefore I am.

I think we might as well believe in Christ as believe in anything," Beatrice said. "I mean, Christ makes as much sense and anything else I can think of." "Like Success," Rodney said. "Or Self," I said. "Or Family," Beatrice said. "Or Woman. Love. Disease. Heartbreak. Death. God. Goals. Reification. Fried food. High fiber optics. Disinvestment. Cancer. AIDS. Genes, skin, tissue, soul.

Naming is power, you know. That's what they say at least. My parents exhausted universal power in first creating me and then in naming me. They created for me an identity whether I wanted one or not.

Oh God, don't you want us to live, to stop killing ourselves? Will they come to see me when I die? Which begs the question, what about now? They say you need other people in your life, but do they need you? Do they?

we dream of peace and tranquility, the day when we no longer despair but our self-imposed angst cannot be avoided. we can't run. it won't go away. the noises i hear in my hell are very real and i'll continue to exist in an interested sort of anguish, looking for bloodstains on acid free sidewalks.

We look through the sights, squeeze the trigger and the toy soldiers go flying, dying hard but smiling in the process. The toy maker should be laughing the whole way to the bank but Nietzsche said he was dead too.

i often wonder at what point my thoughts cease to be my reality and simply merge with my dreams to become my fiction, my life.

The few who are ballsy enough to actually live wind up in madhouses, tortured by actuality. We all wind up in the same place anyhow … food for unseeing worms.

No one is asked whether they wish/ To be born. Everyone is asked to die. / Life is comprised of the noisy silence / One makes of it.

There's this space in our lives that we attempt to fill with more space and the nothingness grows larger while our lives get smaller, a fact we can't seem to accept very well. So, we take walks and we work and we go to movies and basketball games and church and we Exist in our nothing lives and when we die a speech is made and we are forgotten once again, only more permanently this time.