Quotes About Existence

This is hard," he said, but he did not seem to address his words to me. "I'm too close to the end. I've had glimpses of this, but never clear ones. And now all I know is that I must go on, and that every step I take leads me closer to my death." He met my eyes and said without shame, "I'm terrified." I smiled. "Welcome to human existence." p. 335 The Fool to Fitz

Tú creas posibilidades. Mientras existas se puede cambiar el futuro.

For I had already dreamed your face and I knew I must find you, even though everyone had assured me that you did not and could not exist.

Damn it, a man has to see himself reflected somewhere to be sure he is real

La mort nous guette et elle est toujours assurée de sa prise. Il ne sert à rien d'y songer sans cesse, mais, dans nos entrailles dans nos os, nous savons tous qu'elle est là. Tous sauf les humains.

The exercise for centring oneself is a simple one. Stop thinking of what you intend to do. Stop thinking of what you have just done. Then, stop thinking that you have stopped thinking of those things. Then you will find the Now, the time that stretches eternal, and is really the only time there is. Then, in that place, you will finally have time to be yourself.

Why do you chop your life into bits and give the bits names? Hours, days. It is like a rabbit. If I kill a rabbit, I eat a rabbit. When you have a rabbit, you chop it up and call it bones and meat and fur and guts. And so you never have enough.

Awe flowed through him with his blood. Tree. Bark and sap, the scent of the wood and the leaves fluttering overhead. Tree. But also the soil and the water, the air and the light, all was coming and going through the being known as tree. He moved with them, sliding in and out of an existence of bark and leaf and root, air and water.

No, Fitz, this is life. And no one has time not to think of such things. Each creature in the world should consider this thing, every moment of the heart's beating. Otherwise, what is the point of arising each day?

Death is always less painful and easier than life! You speak true. And yet we do not, day to day, choose death. Because ultimately, death is not the opposite of life, but the opposite of choice. Death is what you get when there are no choices left to make. Am I right?

Have you ever felt as if you could actually feel time flowing away from you? As if life was passing you by and you were caught in a backwater with the dead fish and old sticks?

I lose my place in time. It seems to me that we have come this way before, done these things before, perhaps even shared these words before. Sometimes I believe it so strongly that I think that today is actually a memory or a dream.

We do not share. We are one. I am no longer a wolf, you are no longer a man. What we are together, I have no name for. Perhaps the one who spoke to us of the Old Blood would have a word to explain it. He paused. See how much a man I am, that I speak of having a word for an idea? No word is needed. We exist, and we are whatever we are.

Understanding how or why is very seldom as useful as understanding that things are. I am.

Death is always at the edge of now.

Stop thinking of what you intend to do. Stop thinking of what you have just done. Then, stop thinking that you have stopped thinking of those things. Then you will find the Now, the time that stretches eternal, and is really the only time there is.

Death is always less painful and easier than life! You speak true. And yet we do not, day to day, choose death. Because ultimately, death is not the opposite of life, but the opposite of choice. Death is what you get when there are no choices left to make.

When death finds you, may it find you alive.

With every passing year, as the end of my own life draws nearer, there seems to be an ever-shrinking distance between the utterly mundane and the gloriously transcendent. Even my neighborhood at dawn is a burning bush.

Cuando uno no ama nada, y vive aun así, eso es amor.

Maybe he's my clone. Are they cloning humans yet? Eli, I don't know. He's living my life. He's walking in my shoes on his way to my job, living my life. Did he steal my life? Maybe I'm sitting somewhere in a padded room right now. "Careful there, honey," the kind nurse is saying to my slack jawed, vacant expression. "You're drooling all over your straitjacket ..

Love was poetry in its purest form. It existed when it did, and there was nothing that could match it's truth, its mystifying magnetism, its unequaled emotion. Love was a perfectly written sentence without using sound, and unparalleled array of visual harmony without using color. You created it, and it was there to have and to hold without your ever actually being able to see it. It just was.

We are not human beings having a spiritual experience, but are spiritual beings having a human experience.

Maybe there is no such thing as rain; there are only raindrops, each with its own story.