Quotes About Existence

When, at a closer glance, so many objects are questionable, when all knowledge seems to be clothed in a kind of deep unknowing, why do we still place any trust at all in reality as it appears to us, in the world in which we seem to live?

External freedom has probably never existed, but neither have I ever known anyone who knew inner freedom.

Even now I'm nothing but a thin skin covering a mountain of memories.

I know that I, like every living thing, will have to die some day, but my hands, my feet and my guts still don't know it, which is why death seems so unreal.

Immer müssen die Denkenden darauf verzichten zu leben, und die Lebenden haben es nicht nötig zu denken. Die erlösende Tat wird nie getan werden, denn der die Kraft hätte, sie zu tun, weiß nicht, dass er sie tun muss, und der Wissende ist unfähig zu handeln.

I think time stands quite still and we move around in it, sometimes slowly and sometimes at a furious rate.

Ce n'est que lorsque la connaissance d'une chose se répand dans le corps qu'on la sait vraiment. C'est ainsi que je n'ignore pas, comme tout un chacun, que je vais mourir, mais mes pieds, mes mains, mes entrailles l'ignorent encore et c'est pourquoi la mort me semble irréelle.

Déjà, je ne suis plus qu'une fine pellicule recouvrant un amoncellement de souvenirs. Je n'en peux plus. Qu'adviendra-t-il de mois si cette peau venait à se rompre ?

Los que piensan siempre tienen que renunciar a vivir, y los que viven no necesitan pensar.

Ein Mensch kann niemals Tier werden, er stürzt am Tier vorbei in den Abgrund

Cominciamo dal fondo. Let's begin at the beginning. St. Augustine said it most clearly, We are, every one of us, going to die. Rotting is the way of all things. A tree, a cheese, a heart, a whole human chassis. Now, knowing that, understanding that, living begins to seem less important than living the way you'd like to live. Do you agree with that?

If there is a supreme being, he's crazy.

Everything is important. To the smallest insect, even the mouldering tree, the deepest stone in the drift.

Life is just a slow march towards death.

You'll be asking of love next," he said. "Well, do you have love for the man, and does the man love you?" He looked straight at me. Either he just grew whiskers, or I just saw them. "Nobody loves no one," he said. He turned away and nodded at the tree.

And yet the quickest way to not live at all is to take life one day at a time. It's the way I've discovered to not do a damn thing.

is not gone, you're in the flatness of the deadlands. Time doesn't stop. You watch it move but you are still, like a painting with a Mona Lisa smile.

Listen. Dead people never stop talking. Maybe because death is not death at all, just a detention after school. You know where you're coming from and you're always returning from it. You know where you're going though you never seem to get there and you're just dead. Dead.

It reminded me to never take the story of any god or spirit or magical being to be all true. If the gods created everything, was truth not just another creation?

God created us to need Him in the same way we need air.

There is no God, Nature sufficeth unto herself; in no wise hath she need of an author.

And I want him to know the subtle, sneaky, important reason why he was born a human being and not a chair.

What is the life that is going on in me at this moment?

In fact, what makes Wallace the ultimate demagogue is that, behind his indefatigable scrambling, his ferocious concentration, his inexhaustible ambition, there seems to lurk a secret, desperate suspicion that facing him, aside from and beyond his political existence, is nothingness- an empty, terrible white blank. It's as if, when the time finally arrives for him to cease to be a politician, he will simply cease to be.