Quotes About Existence

Sex is. There is nothing more to be done about it. Sex builds no roads, writes no novels and sex certainly gives no meaning to anything in life but itself.

I don't read blogs. I'm living the life they're writing about. So why read about it?

Life is a racket. Writing is a racket. Sincerity is a racket. Everything's a racket.

There comes a time when you realize that everything is a dream, and only those things preserved in writing have any possibility of being real.

We live in our tales of ourselves, she thought, and ignore as best we can the contradictions, and the lapses, and the abrasions of plot against our mortal souls...

When you can't die, she thought, everything sounds like a clock ticking.

I never talk about the end game. He winked at her. I've lived so long without death that I've stopped believing in it.

Elena had always felt like the center of her own world - who doesn't? The world arranged itself around her like petals around the stem of a flower. This way the meadows, that way the woodland. Over here, the baryn's estate, out there, the hills that hug the known world close and imply a world at beyond. She could never come up with the edge of a world, because it always kept going on beyond. She moved the center of the world as she walked. The world was balanced on her head.

In order to remember who you are, you have to have known it in the first place.

Speaking uses us up, speeds us up. Without prayer, that act of confession for merely existing, one might live forever and not know it.

What more does one ask of life, really, but to stagger from moment to moment with a reason to wake and wait for the next reason to wake?

Before catechisms can instill a proper humility, small children know the truth that their own existence has caused the world to bloom into being.

It's my belief that our lives are stolen from us. Ornamented with pinnate leaves and colored frills, we exist only as a consolation for others. I don't feel fulfilled. Indeed, some days I scarcely feel at all.

Kendi ölümünün düÅŸünü kurabilmek, ne armaÄŸan ama...

Behind every aspect of the world is another aspect of the world.

The division of one day from the next must be one of the most profound peculiarities of life on this planet. It is, on the whole, a merciful arrangement. We are not condemned to sustained flights of being, but are constantly refreshed by little holidays from ourselves. . . .

Qualquer casualidade da luta é erro deles, não nosso. Nós não adotamos a violência, mas não negamos sua existência. Como podemos negá-la, se seus efeitos estão ao nosso redor?

If one could drown in the grass, thought Elphie, it might be the best way to die.

She was of an age that took other people's lives to be pretty fictions, useful merely for adorning the invisible membrane that contained her own singular and glorious existence.

There's a reason we live in time. We are too small a flask, even as an Elephant, to tolerate too much knowing. Instead, truth must drip through us as through a pipette, to allow only moments of apprehension. Moments diffuse and miniature enough to be survived.

After all, what kind of a life is it that is not pestered by insects? A perfect one, and since life is not perfect, this cannot be life.

And of the Witch? In the life of a Witch, there is no after, in the ever after of a Witch, there is no happily; In the story of a Witch, there is no afterword.

Life is a very cheap thing here. Cheap and dear all at once, said the rose from her grave. That's the thing. You'll figure it out sooner or later.

I don't believe in the concept of 'real' or 'realer' people. You don't? She smiled, not nicely. When I do disappear again, dearie, I'll surely be less real than I am now.