Quotes About Existence

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

It was no dream she said. Dreams fade. Reality doesn't.

In many ways the world is nothing but a pile of shit. But it can also be very beautiful.

Hodges has read there are wells in Iceland so deep you can drop a stone down them and never hear the splash. He thinks some human souls are like that.

I think it was the first real pain I ever felt in my life...It wasn't what I thought it would be at all. It didn't put an end to me as a person. I think...it gave me a basis for comparison, finding out you could still exist inside the pain, in SPITE of the pain.

The universe is large, he thought. It contains multitudes. It also contains me, and in this moment I am wonderful. I have a right to be wonderful.

Do you believe in an afterlife? the gunslinger asked him as Brown dropped three ears of hot corn onto his plate. Brown nodded. I think this is it.

All that shit starts in E.

Is there hell, or do we make our own on earth?

It's just that if there's a God, he's doing a piss poor job.

Dying was a part of living. You had to keep tuning in to that if you expected to be a whole person. And if the fact of your own death was hard to understand, at least it wasn't impossible to accept.

The prosaic fact of the universe's existence alone defeats both the pragmatist and the romantic.

Reverend was right about one thing: people always want a reason for the bad things in life. Sometimes there ain't one.

If it happens, God lets it happen, and when we say 'I don't understand,' God replies, 'I don't care.

The poet Edgar Allan Poe described the false awakening phenomenon long before Carl Jung was born. He wrote, 'All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.' Have I answered your question?

Actually, I think living's the worst habit.

He had been (Thinking? Praying?) It was all the same thing.

perhaps real beauty was something unrecognized by the conscious self, a work that was always in progress, a thing of being rather than seeing.

Do you believe in an afterlife?" the gunslinger asked him as Brown dropped three ears of hot corn onto his plate. Brown nodded. "I think this is it.

we came from blackness, it seems logical to assume that it's to blackness we return.

From outside came a sudden and loud music of birds celebrating their existence.

Compared to the dullest human being actually walking about on the face of the earth and casting his shadow there," Hardy supposedly said, "the most brilliantly drawn character in a novel is but a bag of bones." I understood because that was what I felt like in those interminable, dissembling days: a bag of bones.

And is there Hell, or do we make our own on earth?

Stories are found things, like fossils in the ground... Stories are relics, part of an undiscovered, pre-existing world.