Quotes About Existence

A life purpose is what I'm meant to do and be while I'm here on the earth.

Religion is religion, however you wrap it, and like Quell says, a preoccupation with the next world pretty clearly signals an inability to cope credibly with this one.

We're more than what we do.

What we thought of as personality was no more than the passing shape of one of the waves in front of me.

You'll let your life, the most precious thing you have, be stolen from you hour by hour and day by day as long as you can eke out the existence your males will let you have.

You know, the aspirants believe this is the only true existence. That everything outside is an illusion, a shadow play created by the ancestor gods to cradle us until we can build our own tailored reality and Upload into it. That's comforting, isn't it.

It's no time here. I am time here. I am all the time you need.

Yes, and Duchamp too, when he was asked what he thought about God, said, 'Let's not talk about that. That's man's stupidest idea.' — Nikša Gligo (1972)

Why indeed must "God" be a noun? Why not a verb... the most active and dynamic of all? MARY DALY THEOLOGIAN

It's my experience that we're much more afraid that there might be a God than we are that there might not be.

Debe ser la caricia de lo inútil, la tristeza sin fin de ser poeta, de cantar y cantar, sin que se rompa la tragedia sin par de la existencia. It must be the caress of the useless, the endless sadness of being a poet, of singing and singing, without breaking the peerless tragedy of existence. (From Canción Amarga/Bitter Song)

we're all alive the day before we die ... but, how alive is another question.

We're all alive the day before we die.

All that spring and summer, there were times when she felt as if she had no joints or muscles, no physical means with which to move about the world.

Each life has value and meaning—even the briefest.

I don't believe in God, but I miss him.

Perhaps love is essential because it's unnecessary.

Memory is identity....You are what you have done; what you have done is in your memory; what you remember defines who you are; when you forget your life you cease to be, even before your death.

We live, we die, we are remembered, we are forgotten.

This is what those who haven't crossed the tropic of grief often fail to understand: the fact that someone is dead may mean that they are not alive, but doesn't mean that they do not exist.

It is all just the universe doing its stuff, and we are the stuff it is being done to.

Life always refused simplicity.

I know this much: that there is objective time, but also subjective time, the kind you wear on the inside of your wrist, next to where the pulse lies. And this personal time, which is the true time, is measured in your relationship to memory. So when this strange thing happened—when these new memories suddenly came upon me—it was as if, for that moment, time had been placed in reverse. As if, for that moment, the river ran upstream.

Why should anything happen when everything has happened?