Quotes About Being

my dreams are tangled in images of stars and clouds and firelight - we go camping at night - it's my lucid dream of being with you...

it's not the medium that's the message - it's consciousness - the wonder of being able to wonder ...

There, in the tin factory, in the first moment of the atomic age, a human being was crushed by books.

I only know I'm living in the interval between The luxuries of consciousness and the straits of sorrow, A bare condition of mere being in which nothing changes And a life is just the sum of its details as it slowly slips away. — John Koethe, from "On Being Dead," Beyond Belief: Poems (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2022)

Personal Identity depends on Consciousness not on Substance

You cannot become what you already are.

The truth of the Goddess is the mystery of our being. She is the dynamic life force within. Her form is embedded in our collective psyche, part of what it is to be human. She is Gaia, the dance of life and Her song is Eros, the energy of creation.

simply because God (Source) has no complementary half with which he could be compared. There is absolutely no possibility of comparing him, and so there is no possibility of recognizing him.—You can only BE God! You can only BE Source.

Her neural pattern must remain intact for the time being, as it was still necessary that she stay herself. Changes to her identity would eventually become inevitable, but those would have to wait until she no longer needed the cloak of who she was.

Such a strange being. Such a strange thing, having a sister. Being a sister. And even stranger to be a sister to such a sister as this.

I have terrible taste in women. And Zanya, being an awful human being, was exactly the kind of terrible that was just to my taste.

Was this what having an identity felt like? Was this being someone? Feeling like there was a core of who you were beyond which you could not be altered?

There is a solitude, which each and every one of us has always carried with him, more inaccessible than the ice-cold mountains, more profound than the midnight sea; the solitude of self. Our inner being, which we call ourself, no eye nor touch of man or angel has ever pierced.

The tragic capacity of the human race for going off course was a little balanced by the integrity of the animals who were always obedient to the law of their being. We were meant to love like that, thought Mary, simply because that's our law and we were told to obey it.

Grace is my favourite church word. A state of being. Something you can pray for. Something God can grant. Something you can obtain. Perfection is out of reach. But grace -- grace you can reach for.

Love-real love-can't be defined. It just is.

All forms of humanism, Heidegger proclaimed, lead inevitably to metaphysics, since they presuppose a human being with a fixed rational nature. Instead of freeing man, the humanist view actually reduces Being's infinite possibilities to the dim, stunted creature of the modern age.

Everything we are is at every moment alive in us.

It is wrong to say: I think. One should say: I am thought.

As Thornwell so aptly expressed it, "Holiness was the inheritance of his [man's] nature—the birthright of his being. It was the state in which all his faculties received their form.

This element is only explained as being of different kinds inasmuch as there are three phases: the unpurified phase, the partly unpurified and partly purified phase, and the utterly purified phase. These are identified by means of the three names "being," "bodhisattva," and "tathagata." With regard to the essence of the subject, however, there is not the slightest difference.

I dream, therefore I exist.

It is evident that everything which does not exist at first and then exists, is determined by something other than itself.

Now, what if Others were encapsulated in Things, in a way that Being towards Things were not ontologically severable, in Heidegger's terms, from Being towards Others? What if the mode of Dasein of Others were to dwell in Things, and so forth? In the same light, then, what if the Thing were a Dublette of the Self, and not what is called the Other? Or more radically still, what if the Self were in some fundamental way becoming a Xerox copy, a duplicate, of the Thing in its assumed essence?