Quotes About Existence

Feelings are never right or wrong," she said after a moment. "They just are.

True,) the white hole said. (My name is Khairelikoblepharehglukumeilichephreidosd'enagouni-) and at the same time he went flickering through a pattern of colors that was evidently the visual translation.

People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist.

Un nacimiento no es, en realidad, una introducción. Nuestra vida, cuando empieza, no es realmente nuestra, sino la continuación de la historia de otro.

Everybody has a story. It's like families. You might not know who they are, might have lost them, but they exist all the same. You might drift apart or you might turn your back on them, but you can't say you haven't got them.

The laws of life and death, as she had learned them, were incomplete. There was more to life, more to death, than medical science had known.

Tú estás viva; pero estar viva no es lo mismo que vivir.

I wondered. What did she think of our attempts to persuader ourselves that this was life and that we were really living it?

Everybody has a story. It's like families. You might not know who they are, might have lost them, but they exist all the same. You might drift apart or you might turn your back on them, but you can't say you haven't got them. Same goes for stories.

Emmeline didn't call me anything. She didn't need to, for I was always there. You only need names for the absent.

Everybody has a story. It's like families. You might not know who they are, might have lost them, but they exist all the same. You might drift apart or you might turn your back on them, but you can't say you haven't got them. Same goes for stories. So," she concluded, "everybody has a story. When are you going to tell me yours?" "I'm not.

Socialism has made everyday existence a living hell nearly everywhere it has been tried, all over the world.

I know all about the facts of life, and I don't think much of them.

Thinking of death--strange, beautiful, terrible and a long way off--made me feel happier than ever.

God - it's merely shorthand for where we come from, where we're going and what it's all about

Of course, he sees creation as discovery. I mean, everything is already created, by the first cause---call it God if you like; everything is already there to be found.

I tried to explain: 'Well, once you stop believing in an old gentleman with a beard...It's only the word God, you know – it makes such a conventional noise.' 'It's merely a shorthand for where we come from, where we're going, and what it's all about.

Well, once you stop believing in an old gentleman with a beard . . .It's only the word God, you know — it makes such a conventional noise." "It's merely shorthand for where we come from, where we're going, and what it's all about." "And do religious people find out what it's all about? Do they really get the answer to the riddle?" "They get just a whiff of an answer sometimes.

As we have no concept of time, each of you has already been each other and are being each other in your future. We know this is not very clear to you at this time. However, each of you will be given information in your near future, in which each of you will be challenged to examine this concept. That is: the past and present simultaneous with the future.

Maybe when we die, the first thing we'll say is, 'I know this feeling. I was here before.

Doesn't our knowledge of death make life more precious?' What good is a preciousness based on fear and anxiety? It's an anxious quivering thing

Isn't death the boundary we need? Doesn't it give a precious texture to life, a sense of definition? You have to ask yourself whether anything you do in this life would have beauty and meaning without the knowledge you carry of a final line, a border or limit.

People think about who they are in the stillest hour of the night. I carry this thought, the child's mystery and terror of this thought, I feel this immensity in my soul every second of my life.

When he died he would not end. The world would end.