Quotes About Meaning

Motive is tricky, and you can't ascribe a motive and then try to make it fit the crime.

If I were a scientist looking at this stuff, I might wonder about God—not about His existence, but His intent.

Pravda, as you know, means 'truth,' and Izvestia means 'news,' and I've heard it said that there is no news in the Truth and no truth in the News.

for I had reached a point in my life when I came to view words differently. A closer look at language could reveal the secret of life.

Language, any language, has a dual character: it is both a means of communication and a carrier of culture

For some readers, I dare say, the word 'institution' still conjures up a Victorian vision of lunatic asylums: poor old Niall, he's in an institution now. That is not the kind of institution I mean. I am talking about, for example, political institutions, like the British Parliament or the American Congress. When we talk about

Work helps prevent one from getting old. I, for one, cannot dream of retiring. Not now or ever. Retire? The word is alien and the idea inconceivable to me. I don't believe in retirement for anyone in my type of work, not while the spirit remains. My work is my life. I cannot think of one without the other. To retire means to begin to die. The man who works and is never bored is never old. Work and interest are the best remedy for age. Each day I am reborn. Each day I must begin again.

in Hebrew, where the word for "old," zaken, is an acronym formed from the expression, zeh kanah hokhmah, literally, "this one has acquired wisdom.

Our language places us in a cultural continuum, linking us to the past, and showing our meanings also to future fellow-speakers.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that you are there, in everything I am, in everything I've ever done, and looking back, I know that I should have told you know much you've always meant to me.

Poetry, she thought, wasn't written to be analyzed; it was meant to inspire without reason, to touch without understanding.

What are we after all our dreams, after all our memories?

Too many people seem to believe that silence was a void that needed to be filled, even if nothing important was said.

Maybe we've lived a thousand lives before this one and in each of them we've found each other... I know I've spent each life before this one searching for you. Not someone like you but you, for your soul and mine must always come together.

Because you aren't just someone I loved back then. You were my best friend, my best self, and I can't imagine giving that up again. He hesitated searching for the right words. You might not understand, but I gave you the best of me, and after you left, nothing was ever the same.

Eventually I came across another passage. This is what it said: I am not commanding you, but I want to treat the sincerity of your love by comparing it to the earnestness of others. The words made me choke up again, and just as I was about to cry, the meaning of it suddenly became clear. God had finally answered me, and I suddenly knew what I had to do.

Love doesn't mean anything if you're not willing to make a commitment.

I wish I had the talent to paint the way I feel about you, for my words always feel inadequate. I imagine using red for your passion and pale blue for your kindness; forest green to reflect the depth of your empathy and bright yellow for your unflagging optimism. And still I wonder: can even an artist's palette capture the full range of what you mean to me?

I have always been a firm believer in God and the power of prayer, though to be honest, my faith has made for alist of questions I definitely want answered after I'm gone.

Do you ever sit back and wonder what it all means? Whether this is it or if there's something greater out there? Or if you were meant for something better?

it was important to him that i know who she was, so im glad for that. but it makes me sad too. they loved each other so much, and now she's gone. it doesn't seem fair.

Who did she know in Raleigh who took the time off to fix a house? Or read Whitman or Eliot, finding images in the mind, thoughts of the spirit? Or hunted dawn from the bow of a canoe? These weren't the things that drove society, but she felt they shouldn't be treated as unimportant. They made living worthwhile.

Todo tuvo perfecto sentido, y al mismo tiempo, nada parecía tener sentido en absoluto. Jamie Sullivan tenía leucemia... Jaime, la dulce Jamie, se estaba muriendo... Mi Jamie...

Love is the essence of a full and wonderful life.