Quotes About Existence

What's truth, anyway? Truth is what you make it.

I look upon the flows of energy which are your real being - not the flesh that masks them.

Fiona and Brand had reached beyond everything and found something, where none of the rest of us had believed anything to exist. The danger released was, on some level, almost worth the evidence obtained: we were not alone, nor were shadows truly our toys.

Would I see everything stripped of meaning, form, content, life, when things had been pushed to a kind of completion?

In the mirrors of the many judgments, my hands are the color of blood. I am part of the evil that exists in the world and in Shadow. I sometimes fancy myself an evil that exists to oppose other evils.

The great burning blossom squats, flowing, upon the limb of the world, excreting the ash of the world, and being none of these things I have named and at the same time all of them, and this is reality, the Nameless.

I've been waiting for you since the beginning of Time, Corwin." "Must have been a bit tiresome.

Something was approaching from beyond the shrub-lined bend. His stream of consciousness fell still. His was now the passive eye of the hunter, discerning everything before it without reflection. His breathing slowed even further. Time ceased to exist. Now .

The shadows will not bear me away, for there are no Shadows here.

The waves move outward from Amber and this, too, may pass away-and me along with it.

Losing, and losing again, is the very basis of the life process, till all we are left with is the bare essence of human existence.

Perhaps it was a knack that humans had, for cleaning up their untidy existences - a hidden survival weapon, like antibodies in the bloodstream.

Time is a noose around the neck, strangling slowly.

But in the end, time is a noose around the neck, strangling slowly.

The Photograph is an extended, loaded evidence — as if it caricatured not the figure of what it represents (quite the converse) but its very existence ... The Photograph then becomes a bizarre (i)medium(i), a new form of hallucination: false on the level of perception, true on the level of time: a temporal hallucination, so to speak, a modest (o)shared(i) hallucination (on the one hand 'it is not there,' on the other 'but it has indeed been'): a mad image, chafed by reality.

Suicide How would I know I don't suffer any more, if I'm dead?

I live in my suffering and that makes me happy. Anything that keeps me from living in my suffering is unbearable to me.

There is no sadness and no cruelty in that gaze; it is a gaze without adjectives, it is only, completely, a gaze which neither judges you nor appeals to you; it posits you, implicates you; makes you exist. But this creative gesture is endless; you keep on being born, you are sustained, carried to the end of a movement which is one of infinite origin, source, and which appears in an eternal state of suspension.

I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time.

Man does not exist prior to language, either as a species or as an individual. We never encounter a state where man is separated from language, which he then elaborates in order to 'express' what is happening to him: it is language which teaches the definition of man, not the contrary.

Sartre) (The world is full without me, as in Nausea; the world plays at living behind a glass partition; the world is in an aquarium; I see everything close up and yet cut off, made of some other substance; I keep falling outside myself, without dizziness, without blue, into precision.

A cold winter night. I'm warm enough, yet I'm alone. And I realize that I'll 'have' to get used to existing quite 'naturally' within the solitude, functioning there, working there, accompanied by, 'fastened to' the presence of absence.

Lo que la Fotografía reproduce al infinito únicamente ha tenido lugar una sola vez: la Fotografía reproduce mecánicamente lo que nunca más podrá repetirse existencialmente.

I never know the loved being's voice except when it is dead, remembered, recalled inside my head, way past the ear; a tenuous yet monumental voice, since it is one of those objects which exist only once they have disappeared