Quotes About Existence

What-ifs are for fools. We are here because are meant to be.

Alas, the gates of life never swing open except upon death, never open except upon the palaces and gardens of death. And the universe appears to me like an immense, inexorable torture-garden… What I say today, and what I heard, exists and cries and howls beyond this garden, which is no more than a symbol to me of the entire earth.

Look here, before you and around you! There is not a grain of sand that has not been bathed in blood, and what is that grain of sand itself, if not the dust of death? But how rich this blood is, and how fertile is the dust!

My God doesn't love me or hate me or watch over me or know me at all, and I feel no love for or loyalty to my God. My God just is.

The Self must create           Its own reasons for being.           To shape God,           Shape Self.

Why is the universe?           To shape God.           Why is God?           To shape the universe.

Consider-- We are born Not with purpose, But with potential.

What is it?" she asked. "Flesh. More like mine than like yours. Different from mine, too, though. It's … the ship." "You're kidding. Your ship is alive?

Why is the universe? To shape God. Why is God? To shape the universe.

Yet God has been here all along, shaping us and being shaped by us in no particular way or in too many ways at once like an amoeba—or like a cancer. Chaos.

Every one knows that change is inevitable. From the second law of thermodynamics to Darwinian evolution, from Buddhism's insistence that nothing is permanent and all suffering results from our delusions of permanence to the third chapter of Ecclesiastes ("To everything there is a season"), change is part of life, of existence, of the common wisdom.

Chiedete a sette persone che cosa significa tutto ciò e otterrete sette risposte diverse. Allora cos'è Dio? Solo un altro nome per qualsiasi cosa ci faccia sentire speciali e protetti?

The self must create Its own reasons for being. To shape God Shape self.

People speculate about intelligent life, and it's fun to think about, but no one is claiming to have found anyone to talk to out there. I don't care. Life alone is enough. I find it . . . more exciting and encouraging than I can explain, more important than I can explain. There is life out there.

God has been here all along, shaping us and being shaped by us in no particular way or in too many ways at once like an amoeba—or like a cancer. Chaos.

Earthseed, there is no promised afterlife.

Every one knows that change is inevitable. From the second law of thermodynamics to Darwinian evolution, from Buddhism's insistence that nothing is permanent and all suffering results from our delusions of permanence to the third chapter of Ecclesiastes ("To everything there is a season"), change is part of life, of existence, of the common wisdom. But I don't believe we're dealing with all that that means. We haven't even begun to deal with it.

Normal,' I muttered. 'I wonder what that is.

Il mio Dio non mi non mi ama o mi odia, non mi sorveglia né mi conosce e io non provo né amore né lealtà nei suoi confronti. Il mio Dio semplicemente è.

We are born Not with purpose, But with potential.

Forever uniting, growing, dissolving-- forever Changing. The universe is God's self-portrait.

I'm not some kind of potential Job, long suffering, stiff necked, then, at last, either humble before an all-knowing almighty, or destroyed. My God doesn't love me or hate me or watch over me or know me at all, and I feel no love for or loyalty to my God. My God just is.

What was he, he wondered, that he could have anything at all but an end?

He shrugged. "It happened. I saw it. You vanished and you reappeared. Facts.