Quotes About Existence

The world will take your life. But above all and lastly the world does not know that you are here. You think that you understand this. But you don't. Not in your heart you don't. If you did you would be terrified. And you're not. Not yet. And now, good night.

for a thing once set in motion has no ending in this world until the last witness has passed

Nadie puede sobornar a la muerte, Billy Said. De veras. Nadie. Nor God. Nor God. Billy watched the light bring up the shapes of the water standing in the fields beyond the roadway. Where do we go when we die? he said. I don't know, the man said. Where are we now?

Books lie, he said. God dont lie. No, said the judge. He does not. And these are his words. He held up a chunk of rock. He speaks in stones and trees, the bones of things.

Qualunque cosa esista, disse. Qualunque cosa esista nella creazione senza che io la conosca esiste senza il mio consenso.

Memories dim with age. There is no repository for our images. The loved ones who visit us in dreams are strangers. To even see aright is effort. We seek some witness but the world will not provide one. This is the third history. It is the history that each man makes alone out of what is left to him. Bits of wreckage. Some bones. The words of the dead. How make a world of this? How live in that world once made?

But one's convictions as to the nature of reality must also represent one's limitations as to the perception of it. And then I just stopped worrying about it. I accepted the fact that I would die without really knowing where it was that I had been and that was okay. Well. Almost.

Life is a memory, then it is nothing. All law is writ in a seed.

for what could be said to occur unobserved?

But what is your life? Can you see it? It vanishes at its own appearance. Moment by moment. Until it vanishes to appear no more. When you look at the world is there a point in time when the seen becomes the remembered? How are they separate? It is that which we have no way o show. It is that which is missing from our map and from the picture that it makes. And yet is all we have.

Pues la existencia tiene su propio orden y eso no puede comprenderlo ninguna inteligencia humana, siendo que la propia inteligencia no es sino un hecho entre otros.

Death is what the living carry with them. A state of dread, like some uncanny foretaste of a bitter memory. But the dead do not remember and nothingness is not a curse. Far from it.

there is no order in the world save that which death has put there.

cada hombre reside temporalmente en su prójimo y este en aquel y así sucesivamente en una infinita cadena de ser y de testigo hasta los más remotos confines del mundo.

It has no reference to anything other than itself. You can name the notes with the letters of the alphabet if you like but it doesnt change anything. Oddly, they are not abstractions. Is music as we know it complete? In what sense? Are there classes such as major and minor we've yet to discover?

The void has no stake in the world's continuing existence. It's home as well to countless millions of meteorites. Some of them enormous. Trundling across the blackness at forty miles a second. I think if there were anything to care it would have cared by now.

He was shot in a fracas of some kind. Long fore he married. Come near dyin. So I always wondered about that, had he died none of us would never have been at all and I never could … Well, that's a funny thing to think. Maybe we would have just been somebody else.

No one cares. It's not important. That's where you're wrong my friend. Everything's important. A man lives his life, he has to make that important. Whether he's a small town county sheriff or the president. Or a busted out bum. You might even understand that some day. I don't say you will. You might.

Sutree se detiene junto a una vieja cripta que un árbol ha desmantelado a medias en su crecer. Dentro no hay nada. Ni huesos ni polvo. Como sin duda son los muertos después de la muerte. La muerte es lo que los vivos llevan consigo. Un estado de pánico, como un presagio inquietante de un recuerdo amargo. Pero los muertos no recuerdan, y la nada no es una maldición. En absoluto.

It just sounds like superstition to me. And what is that? Superstition? Yes. Well. I guess it's when you believe in things that dont exist. Such as tomorrow? Or yesterday? Such as the dreams of somebody you dreamt. Yesterday was here and tomorrow's comin.

Schopenhauer says somewhere that if the entire universe should vanish the only thing left would be music.

Borrower time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it

They used to have names but they dont anymore. The last witness who could have put a name to the faces is boxed up in the ground alongside them and if not nameless as well will soon be so. So. Who are they? The fact that they once walked about in the nomenclative mode is small comfort. Small comfort to whom? Well shit. You just throw up your hands. You dont have to have a name you say. Okay. Dont have to have a name in order to what?

We're all of us pretty much an assemblage of memories.