Quotes About Existence

The past is gone, it doesn't exist any more.

Ordinary consciousness simply becomes pain.

We live in a fantasy world, a world of illusion. The great task in life is to find reality.

It had been his fate not to be interested in anything except everything.

This then was love, to look and look until one exists no more, this was the love which was the same as death.

Everything is full of gods, cousin James once said, quoting somebody.

There is a deep foundation of my being which knows not of time and change and is still and ever with Hartley, in that good place where we once were.

A talent for oblivion is a talent for survival. I laid my head down and merciful pain-killing sleep covered me fathoms deep. Not to have been born is undoubtedly best, but sound sleep is second best.

Mortality itself was my philosophical robe.

Life is horrible, horrible, horrible, said the philosopher.

There's only one thing the matter and that's everything.

Basically, we live a short, disappointing life; and then we die. We fill up oor lives wi shite, things like careers and relationships tae delude oorsels that it isnae aw totally pointless.

But here, just at this point: this is limbo. There is the sense that if you stay at this point for too long, stop at this point of oblivion for a certain amount of time, you will just cease to exist. And we cannot move.

Still, failure, success, what is it? Whae gies a fuck. We aw live, then we die, in quite a short space ay time n ?w. That's it; end ay fuckin story.

I'm glad our slivers of existence intersected in a Venn diagram between the crushing slabs of oblivion on either side of them

Es rarísimo que por un momento estemos aquí y al siguiente hayamos desaparecido. En un par de generaciones, a nadie le importará una mierda. No seremos más que unos gilipollas con ropas graciosas en fotografías descoloridas que un triste descendiente con demasiado tiempo libre saca del aparador para mirar de vez en cuando.

Pití je pro mladé, které jeÅ¡tÄ› netrápí myÅ¡lenky na smrt.

Thir must be less tae life than this. More pain, then more sleep/pain.

Still, failure, success, what is it? Whae gies a fuck. We aw live, then we die, in quite a short space ay time n aw. That's it; end ay fuckin story.

What had come from that? All this? Surely not? Life had to be more than a series of unsolvable mysteries. Surely we were entitled to some fuckin answers.

Who loves — lives, who lives - works, and who works has some bread.

There are neither good nor evil, only the existence and action.

He...breathed in heavy gulps of air to prove to himself that he was three-dimensional.

Art is amoral; so is life.