Quotes About Existential

I said You don't know what worry is. I don't know what it is. I don't know whether I am worrying or not. Whether I can or not. I don't know whether I can cry or not. I don't know whether I have tried to or not. I feel like a wet seed wild in the hot blind earth.

The existential psychiatrist R. D. Laing--a radical critic, like Brown, of received wisdom, and similarly inclined to see mental illness as a sane response to an insane world, even as a form of shamanic journey--described in one of his early books what he called the ontologically secure person.

Going through the motions, like a person who was already dead and just didn't know it yet.

Marvin, her ?ey yolunda m??" Hay?r, hiçbir ?ey yolunda de?il. Bir sonraki güne? sistemine yakla??k 40.850.000.000.000 kilometre uzaktay?z. Samanyolu'nun çap? 100.000 ???k y?l?. Bir ???k yolu 9,46 milyar kilometre. Bu kavranamaz uzakl?klar?n yan?nda, ya?ad???m gezegen tamam?yla bir hiç. Bu durumda nas?l olmal?y?m? Hiçbir ?ekilde iyi olamayaca??m kesin.

You fall madly in love with one man and nearly break your heart because he throws you over and years later you find out you would have been miserable with him; and you go to a man you don't care for and it's just the same with him too. Life is nothing but rags and tags and filthy rags at that. Why was I ever born?

There are people who think death a fate worse than boredom.

Angor animi - the sense of being in the act of dying, differing from the fear of death or the desire for death.

Just understand that the end began long ago We got here just in time Look All the squares in the sidewalks were already there All these strangers have more money than you do All the good riffs have been taken And everyone is so scared Murder is commonplace I don't even flinch at the gunshots outside my window I feel lonely without them

Life is death in slow motion.

Thoughts like mine are not reckoned among the delights of life. It is like the dog trying to catch his tail; he does not catch anything. I do not prove anything, only tire myself; but have the satisfaction that another day has passed, or another night gone by. I

Life is fragile and absurd.

Does it ever happen to you," Natasha said to her brother, when they had settled in the sitting room, "does it ever happen to you that you feel there's nothing more - nothing; that everything good has already happened? And it's not really boring, but sad?" "As if it doesn't!" he said. "It's happened to me that everything's fine, everybody's merry, and it suddenly comes into my head that it's all tiresome and we all ought to die....

The question was summed up for him thus: "If I do not accept the answers Christianity gives to the problems of my life, what answers do I accept?

But I am alive still. Now what's to be done? what's to be done?

She repeated continually, "My God! my God!" But neither "God" nor "my" had any meaning to her.

The question how to live had hardly begun to grow a little clearer to him, when a new, insoluble question presented itself—death.

But I am alive still. Now what's to be done? what's to be done?" he said in despair.

It was as if the thread of the chief screw which held his life together were stripped, so that the screw could not get in or out, but went on turning uselessly in the same place.

does it ever happen to you to feel as if there were nothing more to come—nothing; that everything good is past? And to feel not exactly dull, but sad?

Only one step across that line, which reminds on the boundary that separates living from the dead, and then there's uncertainty, torture and death.

there's no forsaking what you love no existential leap as witnessed here in time and blood a thousand kisses deep

The band is playing Auld Lang Syne But the heart will not retreat There's no forsaking what you love No existential leap As witnessed here in time and blood A thousand kisses deep

All of it just confirmed his belief that his real life, the life he should be living, had been mislaid through some clerical error by the cosmic bureaucracy. This couldn't be it. It had been diverted elsewhere, to somebody else, and he'd been issued this shitty substitute faux life instead

Death was an existential catastrophe, a rip in the soft upholstery with which humanity padded over a hard uncaring universe, but it turned out there were an amazing number of people whose job it was to deal with it for you, and all they asked in return were huge quantities of time and money.