Quotes About Meaning

Live for something rather than die for nothing. —George Patton

One little deed done in time is worth more than a thousand good intentions.

The eminent cleric was poking fun at original sin. 'That sin is your meal ticket. Without it, you'd die of hunger, for your ministry would then no longer have any meaning. If man is not fallen from the very beginning, why did Christ come? to redeem whom and what?' To my objections, his only response was a condescending smile. A religion is finished when only its adversaries try to preserve its integrity.

There certainly has remained with me the feeling that my identity is entirely illusory, and that by losing it, I have lost nothing, except something, except everything.

no man's death can ever give safe passage to any other man's life. At

Maybe the way back will somehow make sense of the coming.

the things which, when added up, amounted to a life.

Thank you," she said. "That wasn't meant as a compliment," he said. "I was criticizing you." "That made the compliment all the more sincere," Lauren said. "You weren't trying to make one.

Life is about deciding what matters. It's about the fantasy that determines the reality.

We are born and we die; and between these two most important events in our lives more or less time elapses which we have to waste somehow or other. In the end it does not seem to matter much whether we have done so in making money, or practicing law, or reading or playing, or in any other way, as long as we felt we were deriving a maximum of happiness out of our doings.

it does not make much difference what kind of a law we make as long as the judges tell us what it means.

The purpose of man is like the purpose of a pollywog - to wiggle along as far as he can without dying; or, to hang to life until death takes him.

The word is my fourth dimension.

What I'm writing to you is not for reading— it's for being.

I write because I have nothing better to do in this world: I am superfluous and last in the world of men. I write because I am desperate and weary. I can no longer bear the routine of my existence and, were it not for the constant novelty of writing, I should die symbolically each day.

She wanted even more: to be reborn always, to sever everything that she had learned, that she had seen, and inaugurate herself in new terrain where every tiny act had a meaning, where the air was breathed as if for the first time.

Never again shall I understand anything I say. Since how could I speak without the word lying for me? How could I speak except timidly like this: life just is for me. Life just is for me, and I don't understand what I'm saying. And so I adore it.

I'm no more than a comma in life. I who am a colon. Thou, thou art my exclamation.

There are those who have. And there are those who have not. It's very simple: the girl had not. Hadn't what? Simply this: she had not. If you get my meaning that's fine. If you don't, it's still fine.

I am finding myself: it's deadly because only death concludes me. But I bear it until the end. I'll tell you a secret: life is deadly. I'll have to interrupt everything to tell you this: death is the impossible and intangible. Death is just future to such an extent that there are those who cannot bear it and commit suicide. It's as life said the following: and there simply was no following.

Esta é a vida vista pela vida. Posso não ter sentido mas é a mesma falta de sentido que tem a veia que pulsa.

But I'm afraid to begin composing in order to be understood by the imaginary someone, I'm afraid to start to "make" a meaning, with the same tame madness that till yesterday was my healthy way of fitting into a system. Will I need the courage to use an unprotected heart and keep talking to the nothing and the no one? as a child thinks about the nothing. And run the risk of being crushed by chance.

I don't want to have the terrible limitation of those who live merely from what can make sense. Not I: I want an invented truth. What shall I tell you? I shall tell you the instants. I go too far and only then do I exist and in a feverish way.

Haz de nuevo la pregunta, Juana, no te he oído. —Quería saber qué pasa después de que se es feliz. ¿Qué ocurre después?