Quotes About Existential

DO you think it hurts to die?" Not as much as it hurts to live, Trixie thought.

The answer of life struggles in between two kinds of people- those who live to dreamand those who dream to liveAsk them the question about death if they can truly conceive

I'm in the middle of an existential crisis in how I approach comedy about these big issues. I sometimes find, when I get drawn on the subject of race, it's too close to home for me and I can't articulate what I'm trying to get across.

Most people think it's normal to have a nameless sorrow at the bottom of your soul.

Some people are scared by the sunsets, some determined to be elated, but most of us don't know how to feel, are ready to go either way.

I know what life is about, but what if I don't like it?

I understand why people wear crystals around their necks and why they perform chants and gaze at stars. They are lonely. I'm not talking about lonely for a lover or a friend. I mean lonely in the universal sense, lonely inside the understanding that we are tiny little people on a tiny little earth suspended in an endless void that echoes past stars and stars of stars. And it's not like God has a call-in radio show.

If you're going to have an existential crisis, Portland in winter is hard to beat.

Frankl went on to say it wasn't pleasure mankind was looking for, that men only sought pleasure when they couldn't find meaning. If a man has no sense of meaning, Frankl argued, he will numb himself with pleasure.

The thing about trying to remember your life is it makes you wonder what any of it means. You get the feeling life means something, but you're not sure what. Life has a peculiar feel when you look back on it that it doesn't have when you're actually living it.

I looked at him. There was so much I wanted to ask him, so much I wanted to say; but somehow I knew there wasn't time and even if there was, that it was all, somehow, beside the point. Are you happy here? I said at last. He considered this for a moment. Not particularly, he said. But you're not very happy where you are, either.

And as the light flickered over it in bands, I had the queasy sense of my own life, in comparison, as a patternless and transient burst of energy, a fizz of biological static just as random as the street lamps flashing past.

I was different, but it wasn't. And as the light flickered over it in bands, I had the queasy sense of my own life, in comparison, as a patternless and transient burst of energy, a fizz of biological static just as random as the street lamps flashing past.

Sometimes, I used to sit under the sky, on a clear night, and gaze at the stars, saying, in my croaky voice: "Lord, if you're up there somewhere, and you aren't too busy, come and say a few words to me, because I'm very lonely and it would make me so happy." Nothing happened. So I reckon that humanity— which I wonder whether I belong to —really had a very vivid imagination.

It is true that living offers us the answers a long time before the questions.

You can convert this human system into absolute receptivity, where you can perceive life in ways that you have never believed possible. If you keep all your ideas, emotions and your nonsense aside, maybe you can take a step, move one inch. One little step existentially is worth more than all the scriptures that you can read on the planet. One little step is far more important than all the philosophies that you can spout.

A veces se da uno cuenta, repentinamente, de que la vida es torpe y vacía, y se echa uno a reír

His inconsistency. His inability to finish anything. His sudden terrifying feelings that nothing he did mattered. His realizations that what went on in the outside world had more substance than anything in his life.

The stillness and stasis of bed are the perfect opposite of travel: inertia is what I've come to consider the default mode, existentially and electronically speaking. Bed, its utter inactivity, offers a glimpse of eternity, without the drawback of being dead.

I would never have to fake my own death, he found himself thinking. I've all but vanished already. Part of him welcomed that. Another part, larger but distributed so thinly across his personality that it seemed invisible, panicked soundlessly on a twenty-four-hour schedule.

What was I truly? In the end, I could not bear to know.

La cuestión de si sobrevivimos a estos peligros no es un tópico de debate científico, sino un tema de voluntad política.

De alguna manera -había argumentado Garp- la vida es demasiado. La vida es un folletín melodramático no apto para menores, John

We are all meaning-seeking, meaning creating creatures and when we experience the loss of meaning, we suffer.