Quotes About Existential

All he had to do was solve the mystery of the universe, which may be difficult but is not as difficult as living an ordinary life.

It was not the prospect of the Last Day which depressed him but rather the prospect of living through an ordinary Wednesday morning.

Whenever I feel myself sinking into a deep sleep, something always recalls me: "Not so fast now. Suppose you should go to sleep and it should happen. What then?" Clearly nothing. Yet there I lie, wakeful and watchful as a sentry, ears tuned to the slightest noise.

Being in your mid-thirties brought benefits, I reminded myself. You began to appreciate tidiness, smallness, things in their place. This is the shape your life has taken, I said. Be existential. Go to sleep.

Disciplines are by definition based on territorial epistemologies: studying the borders doesn't lead necessarily to border thinking . . . unless scholars engage in epistemological disciplinary disobedience and bring to the fore the existential experience of dwelling in the border. By

I've died before. It was boring, so I stood up.

I do not believe in god, but I miss him.

Sometimes I lie awake at night and I ask, "Why me?", then a voice answers "Nothing personal, your name just happened to come up.

Sometimes I think about dying. And then I wonder about going to hell. And then I think that if and when I go there, the place will be completely organized and run by lost souls, with a council and a works committee and an ethics panel, and I'll feel right at home.

There is a widespread sense of loss here, if not always of God, then at least of meaning.

The zombie is the absolute void present within capitalist everyday life.

Life all comes down to a few moments. This is one of them.

I know always that I am an outsider; a stranger in this century and among those who are still men.

Freedom in its existential struggle, greater than the tragedy of fear.

About a third of my cases are suffering from no clinically defineable neurosis, but from the senselessness and emptiness of their lives. This can be described as the general neurosis of our time.

I have this strange feeling that I'm not myself anymore. It's hard to put into words, but I guess it's like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.

A simple inquiry—"What are we going to do about dinner?"—incites an existential crisis, the 742nd of its kind since your wedding day.

I'm not very good at being alive. Sometimes I despair of ever mastering it, getting it right. When I'm old, perhaps.

Why is there anything at all rather than nothing whatsoever?

For one timeless ghastly interval he thought he saw the fabric of the ship itself dissolving with him into a mist of discrete particles, he knew that he wasn't human anymore and nothing was real. And then plunged headlong into nothingness.

Life is the joyless quest for joy.

It can't be that life is so senseless and horrible. But if it really has been so horrible and senseless, why must I die and die in agony? There is something wrong!

Cities are not ordained; they are wholly existential. To say that a city grew "because" it was located at a good site for trading is, in view of what we can see in the real world, absurd. Few resources in this world are more common than good sites for trading but most of the settlements that form at these good sites do not become cities.

What can I say about life? Do I praise it for letting you live, or damn it for allowing the rest?