Quotes About Existence

You are all there, the people in the city. I can't believe I was ever among you. When you are away from a city it becomes a fantasy. Any town, New York, Chicago, with its people, becomes improbable with distance. Just as I am improbable here, in Illinois, in a small town by a quiet lake. All of us improbable to one another because we are not present to one another. And it is so good to hear the sounds, and know that Mexico City is still there and the people moving and living.

You don't ask a dream if it is real, or you wake up.

But what is shape? Only a cup for the blazing soul that God provides us all.

I want to wake people up and make them care about being alive in this universe.

Treasure this day, and treasure yourself. Truly, neither will ever happen again.

Did all dying people feel this way, as if they had never lived?

And the men of Mars realized that in order to survive they would have to forgo asking that one question any longer: Why live? Life was its own answer.

You who walk the earth know only the moment, which is whisked away with your next exhalation.

In the attic where the rain touched the roof softly on spring days and where you could feel the mantle of snow outside, a few inches away, on December nights, A Thousand Times Great Grandmère existed. She did not live, nor was she eternally dead, she … existed.

It is a subliminal thing. It is the tick of a clock that has ticked so long one no longer notices. Something is in a room when a man lives in it. Something is not in the room when a man is dead in it.

The blows of his heart might jar him loose, crash him down, but he was glad to hear them, know himself alive.

Life is short, misery sure, mortality certain.

Why live? Life was its own answer.

What does it matter who is Past or Future, if we are both alive, for what follows will follow, tomorrow or in ten thousand years.

I know it. I know everything.' She waited a moment. 'What do you know?' 'No use making more people. People die.

Time is so strange and life is twice as strange. The cogs miss, the wheels turn, and lives interlace too early or too late.

Death doesn't exist. It never did, it never will. But we've drawn so many pictures of it, so many years, trying to pin it down, comprehend it, we've got to thinking of it as an entity, strangely alive and greedy. All it is, however, is a stopped watch, a loss, an end, a darkness.

Here you lie in the tremendous web. Others are about you, but they are whole—whole hearts and bodies. But all of you that lives is back there walking the desolate seas in evening winds. This thing here, this cold clay thing, is already dead.

Since our tongues first moved in our mouths we've asked, What does it all mean? No other question made sense, with death breathing down our necks. But just let us settle in on ten thousand worlds spinning around ten thousand alien suns and the question will fade away.

And the sun goes on, day after day, burning and burning. The sun and time. The sun and time and burning. Burning.

Life as if you'd drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.

O kuo iš tikr?j? kvepia Laikas? Dulk?mis, laikrodžiais, žmon?mis.

We are all the sons and daughters of time

Sexed but sexless, the robots. Named but unnamed, and borrowing from humans everything but humanity, the robots stared at the nailed lids of their labeled F.O.B boxes, in a death that was not even a death, for there had never been a life.