Quotes About Existence

Christ! What are patterns for?

Reality can be very boring.

Time is not a solid, linear thing, no matter how much man tries to pretend it is. Time has humored us, much like a parent does a child, bending this way and that, to make us think we have the upper hand, but make no mistake: we do not. There are levels and dimensions of time, unimaginable twists and nooks that our punny brains cannot even begin to understand.

Perhaps it makes sense that a creature that doesn't get ill and has few enemies among its neighbors would also live agelessly and die without explanation or cause--would simply vanish without a trace.

The middle place. Not death. Not life. A limbo state of existence filled with the hours of turning the wheels. Eating to not feel hungry. Sleeping to not feel tired. Waking to not feel asleep. The middle place that exists between breaths, in that pause, that slight breathlessness before an exhale and an inhale. Between the crest and the valley. Where the path always meanders cliffside.

The middle place. Not death. Not life. A limbo state of existence filled with the hours of turning the wheels. Eating to not feel hungry. Sleeping to not feel tired. Waking to not feel asleep. The middle place that exists between breaths, in that pause, the slight breathlessness before an exhale and an inhale. Between the crest and the valley. Where the path always meanders cliffside.

I climb to the very top step and look behind me at the wall of memories. Who are we in the end? A collection of photos? How do we know what is truly lived if we cannot remember it?

Life is the time spent before death

thought of the countless people in the world who were born to live and die in anonymity, playing out lives no better or worse than anyone else's and no one noticing. Sometimes we give others who don't make a big mark in some way a moment in the limelight in fiction. Our novelists' eyes and ears say to our readers, "Look here, please. Listen. This existence mattered, too." That

And if you believe in God, I think She doesn't work that way either.

People living deeply have no fear of death.

Birth matters. It brings us into being, on many levels.

What can be more foolish than to think that all this rare fabric of heaven and earth could come by chance, when all the skill of art is not able to make an oyster!

The average man does not know what to do with his life, yet wants another one which will last forever.

The impotence of God is infinite.

We do not know what to do with this short life, yet we yearn for another that will be eternal.

What can be more foolish than to think that all this rare fabric of heaven and earth could come by chance?

It is possible that these millions of suns, along with thousands of millions more we cannot see, make up altogether but a globule of blood or lymph in the veins of an animal, of a minute insect, hatched in a world of whose vastness we can frame no conception, but which nevertheless would itself, in proportion to some other world, be no more than a speck of dust.

Je tiens à mon imperfection comme à ma raison d'être.

Epicure a dit: ou Dieu veut empêcher le mal et ne le peut, ou il le peut et ne le veut, ou il ne le peut ni ne le veut, ou il le veut et le peut. S'il le veut et ne le peut, il est impuissant; s'il le peut et ne le veut, il est pervers; s'il ne le peut ni ne le veut, il est impuissant et pervers; s'il le veut et le peut, que ne le fait-il, mon père ?

Ignorance is the necessary condition, i do not say of happiness, but of life itself. If we knew everything, we could not endure existence a single hour. The sentiments that make it sweet to us, or at any rate tolerable, spring from a falsehood, and are fed on illusions. If, like God, a man possessed the truth, the sole and perfect truth, and once let it escape out of his hands, the world would be annihilated there and then, and the universe melt away instantly like a shadow.

C'est dans l'absolue ignorance de notre raison d'être qu'est la racine de notre tristesse et de nos dégoûts.

But on what can intelligence sharpen its wits, in a country where the climate is soft and existence made easy? Even here, where necessity calls for intellectual activity, nothing is rarer than a person who thinks.

To know is nothing at all; to imagine is everything. Nothing exists except that which is imagined.