Quotes About Existence

The sun burnt every day. It burnt time.

I'm really alive! he thought. I never knew it before, or if I did I don't remember!

For if we're destroyed, the knowledge is dead...We're nothing more than dust jackets for books...so many pages to a person...

Why live? Life was its own answer. Life was the propagation of more life and the living of as good a life as possible.

The Internet is a big distraction. It's distracting, it's meaningless; it's not real. It's in the air somewhere.

So in sum, what are we? We are the creatures that know and know too much. That leaves us with such a burden again we have a choice, to laugh or cry. No other animal does either. We do, depending on the season and the need.

Is Death important? No. Everything that happens before death is what counts.

I don't talk things, sir,' said Faber. 'I talk the meaning of things. I sit here and know I'm alive.

Wouldn't it be fine if we could prove things with our mind, and know for certain that things are always in their place. I'd like to know what a place is like when I'm not there. I'd like to be sure.

One day you discover you are alive. Explosion! Concussion! Illumination! Delight! You laugh, you dance around, you shout. But, not long after, the sun goes out. Snow falls, but no one sees it, on an August noon.

We haven't been too bad, have we? No, nor enormously good. I suppose that's the trouble - we haven't been much of anything except us, while a big part of the world was busy being lots of awful things.

To be asleep is to be dead. It is like death. So we dance, we dance so as not to be dead. We do not want that.

From this outer edge of his life, looking back, there was only one remorse, and that was only that he wished to go on living. Did all dying people feel this way, as if they had never lived? Did life seem that short, indeed, over and done before you took a breath? Did it seem this abrupt and impossible to everyone, or only to himself, here, now, with a few hours left to him for thought and deliberation?

No, said a voice, the only thing wrong on a night like that is that there is a world and you must come back to it.

Memory is an illusion, nothing more. It is a fire that needs constant tending.

The quality of death, like that of life, must be of an infinite variety, and if one has already died once, then what was there to look for in dying for good and all, as he was now?

After all, once a time was over, it was done. You were always in the present. // Pictures? No, they lie. You're not the picture. My dear, you're not the dates, or the ink, or the paper. You're not these trunks of junk and dust. You're only you, here, now—the present you.

We're nothing more than dust jackets for books, of no significance otherwise.

The library was like a stone quarry where no rain had fallen in ten thousand years. Way off in that direction: silence. Way off in that direction: hush. It was the time between things finished and things begun. Nobody died here. Nobody was born. The library, and all its books, just were. We

I never thought of God as humorous," said Father Stone. "The Creator of the platypus, the camel, the ostrich, and man? Oh, come now!

Ya no existe el cohete. Nunca existió. Ni la gente. No hay nadie en todo el universo. Nunca hubo nadie. Ni planetas. Ni estrellas. Eso decía. Y luego algo acerca de sus pies y sus piernas y sus manos: No mas manos, decía. Ya no tengo manos. Nunca las tuve. Ni cuerpo. Nunca lo tuve. Ni boca. Ni cara. Ni cabeza. Nada. Solamente espacio. Solamente el abismo.

Whatever she is now she's better than she was, said Bedloe. Being dead is better than being dull, being dead is better than not being aware.

The Animal does not question lif. It lives. It's very reason for living is life; it enjoys and relishes life.

She didn't want to know -how- a thing was done, but -why-. That can be embarrassing. You ask Why to a lot of things and you wind up very unhappy indeed, if you keep at it. The poor girl's better off dead.