Quotes About Existence

even if we returned to the dirt and the wind and the rain like the plants and the animals, we had a bigness in us. Something beyond algorithms and beyond Upgrades-- something we were proud to call human. Or so it seemed to me.

we should strive to grow consciousness itself — to generate bigger, brighter lights in an otherwise dark universe.

He rests in the graveyard of Ivry a suburb that always looks like the day the carnival comes down. And perhaps only I still know that he was alive".

Non sono mai stato tanto attaccato alla vita

We need time to dream, time to remember, and time to reach the infinite. Time to be.

We know how ninety-nine percent of the universe works," he told Carter shortly after they met, "and that's the clockworks, that's what we build with. But the other one percent makes the clockworks wind down. That's inertia. No one knows how that works, but it does. It's that one percent mystery that's the way of our maker. Put everything together, energy and inertia, the explicable and the inexplicable, and that's how you and I make our living.

Life is a tale told by an idiot, signifying nothing.

Parts of him were built to be awake before dawn and yearning to be both absolutely still and moving everywhere at once.

Only meaning can make a difference and we all know there's no meaning. All stories express a desire for meaning, not meaning itself. Therefore any difference knowing the story makes is a delusion.

The beast is redundant. It's been us all along.

Embrace determinism and you're chained all the way back to the beginning. Of the universe. Of everything.

This, of course, is the crux. It doesn't really matter what the language is, only whether there's a transcendent moral grammar underpinning it. No one really cares what hell's called or who runs it. They just don't want to go there.

The moon sets. The next day you wake up in sheets that smell of fabric conditioner. There is CNN. There is coffee. There is weather. There is your human face in the mirror. The world, you discover, is a place of appalling continuity.

That's the problem with being alive," she says, staring at the floor. "You've got to keep thinking of what to do.

But all the while and all the while and all the while the world.

Pain revealed the paltry dimensions of love. The paltry dimensions of everything, in fact, except pain.

You don't believe in the soul until you feel it straining to escape the body.

I suppose the word "unbearable" is a lie by definition. Unless you kill yourself immediately after using it.

But I've said it before and I'll say it again: kneecaps only exist to get hit with claw-hammers; grace only exists to be fallen from.

The world, Lula was thinking, is oozing, teeming, crawling with miracles. And we live in the opaque plastic bubble of television and booze.

Open, the eyes of the dead are a travesty, a parody, make a fool of the deceased. Open, the eyes of the dead perform that most indecent subtraction, show the person without his life.

Human love didn't eradicate God, but it put Him into His proper distant second place.

Live long enough and nothing is news. 'The News' is 'the new things.' That's fine, until a hundred years go by and you realise there are no new things, only deep structures and cycles that repeat themselves through different period details.

There is no God. And that's His only Commandment.