Quotes About Existence

It is not the consciousness of men that determines their being, but, on the contrary, their social being that determines their consciousness.

Again, we cannot search the whole world in order to make sure that nothing exists which the law forbids. Nevertheless, both kinds of strict statements, strictly existential and strictly universal, are in principle empirically decidable, each, however, in one way only: they are unilaterally decidable. Whenever it is found that something exists here or there, a strictly existential statement may thereby be verified, or a universal one falsified.

I, however, believe that there is at least one philosophical problem, It is the problem of cosmology

History has no meaning.

I wish to make it clear that 'history' in the sense in which most people speak of it simply does not exist; and this is at least one reason why I say that it has no meaning.

It is not the consciousness of man that determines his existence—rather, it is his social existence that determines his consciousness.

The reality of time and change seemed to me the crux of realism.

Society and the individual are thus interdependent. The one owes its existence to the other. Society owes its existence to human nature, and especially to its lack of self-sufficiency; and the individual owes his existence to society, since he is not self-sufficient. But within this relationship of interdependence, the superiority of the state over the individual manifests itself in various ways;

I conjecture that the origin of life and the origin of problems coincide.

The Christian of the future will be a mystic or he will not exist at all.

You came and you will be gone. You don't even have to do something for it, it happens by itself. You came by itself and you will be gone by itself. So, what do you worry about?

I'll never get out of politics. I have friends in public office. I have things that I want to do. You can't go back in life. I won't go back to the existence I had before of running a political consulting firm and signing up clients and advising campaigns in exactly that way.

So now I ask you, what will happen to me? I have fulfilled my purpose, but I can no longer cease to exist by myself. I have inherited Calandria May's sorrow, and am lost myself without the purpose I once had. I can never be a ship again. So please, I beg you, shut me down now. I never wanted to have a soul.

To make matters even worse, Schlick had the cheek to write an essay called "The Meaning of Life." He even gave a simple answer to the question. The meaning of life does not reside in a higher purpose, but can be expressed in just one word, said Moritz Schlick: "The meaning of life is youth.

It just hurts too much to feel. As a result, we lose touch with others and find ourselves more and more removed, isolated, and alone. We also become detached from the world. Our sensibilities slowly glaze over, become numb and may eventually turn off. At this juncture, we become dis-connected, not only from others, but from our Self This condition occurs unconsciously as a result of being human and alive.

The beginning is the word and the end is silence. And in between are all the stories.

Life wasn't about becoming, was it? It was about being.

Moments left, Teddy thought. A handful of heartbeats. That was what life was. A heartbeat followed by a heartbeat. A breath followed by a breath. One moment followed by another moment and then there was a last moment.

It wasn't that [he] believed in religion, or a God, or an afterlife. He just knew it was impossible to feel this much love and for it to end.

Silence does not come," said Tadis. "It is always there. You are simply aware of it.

No, we never die for long, While we've got that little life To live for, where it's hid inside.

Do you sometimes feel you might be painted onto the world, find yourself standing like an angel in a Dutch interior, with nothing to do?

She was moved by a kind of commiseration... a pity for that colorless existence which never uplifted its possessor beyond the region of blind contentment, in which no moment of anguish ever visited her soul, in which she would never have the taste of life's delirium.

Why, mother!" cried Rebecca, clasping her knees with her hands; "why, mother, it's enough joy just to be here in the world on a day like this; to have the chance of seeing, feeling, doing, becoming! When you were seventeen, mother, wasn't it good just to be alive? You haven't forgotten?