Quotes About Existence

Time itself is a thing, so it seems to me, that stands solidly like a fence of iron palings with its endless row of years; and we flow past like Gyoll, on our way to a sea from which we shall return only as rain.

We can think only of creatures, of things He's made. Creatures are all we know, and can be all we know until we know Him. When we think of Him like that, we find we can't believe. He can't be like a creature any more than a carpenter is like a table.

There is something in all of us that has always been dead," I said. "If only because we know that eventually we will die. All of us except the smallest children.

There is no category of human activity in which the dead do not outnumber the living many times over. Most beautiful children are dead. Most soldiers, most cowards. The fairest women and the most learned men—all are dead.

In the final reckoning there is only love, only that divinity. That we are capable only of being what we are remains our unforgivable sin.

How big is a man's life? asked Ultan. I have no way of knowing, but isn't it larger than that? You see it from the beginning, and anticipate much. I, recollecting it from its termination, know how little there has been. I suppose that is why the depraved creatures who devour the bodies of the dead seek more.

Do you think there are answers to everything here? Is that true in the place you come from?

I had survived, and I should be dead. I was haunted by my own life.

pain … the chain forged to bind us to the eternal present, …

By the same argument, the life must reside in each joint of every finger, and surely that is impossible. How big is a man's life? asked Ultan. I have no way of knowing, but isn't it larger than that? You see it from the beginning, and anticipate much. I, recollecting it from its termination, know how little there has been.

All time exists. That is the truth beyond the legends the epopts tell. If the future did not exist now, how could we journey toward it? If the past does not exist still, how could we leave it behind us?

But there is no such reason to mourn the destruction of a colony of cells: such a colony dies each time a loaf of bread goes into the oven. If a man is no more than such a colony, a man is nothing; but we instinctively know that man is more. What happens then to the part that is more?

All time exists. That is the truth beyond the legends the epopts tell. If the future did not exist now, how could we journey toward it? If the past does not exist still, how could we leave it behind us? In sleep the mind is encircled by its time, which is why we so often hear the voices of the dead there, and receive intelligence of things to come.

This world that you and we treasure has now been driven round the sun so often that the warp and woof of its space grow threadbare and fall as dust and feeble lint from the loom of time.

Surely the Pancreator knows all mysteries. He spoke the long word that is our Universe and few things happen that are not part of that word.

That which you call nothing is what holds all things apart.

The forest had set its own dead there as well, stumps and limbs that time had turned to stone, so that I wondered as I descended, if it might not be that Urth is not, as we assume, older than her daughters the trees, and imagined them growing in the emptiness before the face of the sun, tree clinging to tree with tangled roots and interlacing twigs until at last their accumulation became our Urth, and they only the nap of her garment.

We are as solid as most truly false things are--a dance of particles in space. Only the things no one can touch are true...

Your body is the piece of the universe you've been given; as long as you have a pulse, it presents you with an ongoing shower of immediate sensate experiences.

mothering is our first preverbal template for an existence in which we feel welcomed or rejected, loved or abandoned, many of us have fused our relationship with our mothers with our concepts of God.

Estamos aquí para morirnos de aburrimiento y luego preguntarnos cómo es posible aburrirse tanto.

Endings don't mean anything. Meanings lie where the world takes its breath, and that is always now.

The ICU's life cycle for humans is as follows: a spurt of intense activity at birth; timeless adulthood, when one is afflicted with a range of woes that carry their own temporalities; and an inglorious, ill-defined end. The effect of this is, paradoxically, to make the individual an tin-defined, tabula rasa onto which various diseases are inscribed.

If no love is, O God, what fele I so? And if love is, what thing and which is he? If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo? If it be wikke, a wonder thynketh me