Quotes About Meaning

Two plus three is five, check the email, one plus seven is, check the email, eight, check the email, which comes to a total of, who the hell am I anyway, eighty five. This is how he dismembers his day, in the most painful way, moment by moment. A bigger man would just shoot it, put it out of its misery.

Nothing really mattered, and nothing could be lost.

I felt like I could do this forever, because nothing mattered more than anything else.

Where do we come from? Do souls really exist? I can't answer these questions, especially not at 6am.

He called the feeling between us "weird," and I had nothing to add. I kissed the backs of his legs and they sang. He reached around and pulled me down onto his back and I lay there, like on the warm sand of a beach. Just that. That is all there is. That is the whole point of everything.

We still kissed frequently, usually a cluster of small pecks. An acronym for our early deep kisses. Which in a way was more intimate because only we knew what it stood for.

Did she think it was temporary? Or maybe that was the point of love: not to think.

The receptionist xeroxed my insurance card while explaining that chromotherapy isn't covered by insurance.

FrumuseÈ›ea, dup? cuvintele lui Dostoievski, va salva lumea, È™i nu mai înÈ›elegem ce înseamn? "a salva". Ce s? salvezi, când tr?im în imanen?? È™i aleatoriu?

Art has no meaning if it's not an escape. If it's not born of a prisoner's despair. I can't respect any art that comforts and relieves, those novels and music and paintings designed to make your prison more bearable.

Cum spunea Wittgenstein, nu sunt posibile miracole în lume, singurul miracol este însuÈ™i faptul c? lumea exist?.

Intr-un fel, viaÅ£a ta avut sens dac?, în ÅŸirul nesfarÅŸit de momente banale, cenuÅŸii, triste, ruÅŸinoase, tic?loase, mizerabile, plicticoase din care orice via?? este compus?, s-a aprins totuÅŸi de cateva ori sau doar o singur? dat?, scanteia cutemur?toare a fericirii.

Iubim femeile pentru c? pentru ele se scriu trei sferturi din poezia ÅŸi proza lumii. Pentru c? sunt femei, pentru c? nu sunt b?rbaÅ£i, nici altceva. Pentru c? din ele-am ieÅŸit ÅŸi-n ele ne-ntoarcem, ÅŸi mintea noastr? se roteÅŸte ca o planet? greoaie, mereu ÅŸi mereu, numai în jurul lor.

C?tre sfârÈ™itul nopÈ›ii sensul c?rÈ›ilor se evapora complet È™i r?mâneam în braÈ›e cu paginile lor poroase, cu semnele lor cabalistice imposibil de înÈ›eles, cu parfumul de hârtie pr?fuit?, cel mai excitant parfum de pe p?mânt.

Noi nu suntem obiecte, ci procese. Eu sunt, în cele din urm?, c?utarea mea de sine. Exist pentru c? m? caut pe mine însumi. Nu m? caut ca s? m? g?sesc: faptul c? m? caut pe mine însumi este semnul c? deja m-am g?sit.

V?d zilnic oameni care locuiesc în case minunate, în acele case vechi, de pe marginea bulevardelor sau din zonele t?cute ÅŸi aurii ale oraÅŸului, case adev?rate, calde, cu personalitate, pe care le poÅ£i iubi ca pe femeia vieÅ£ii tale. Cu ce le merit? ei?

Ar fi însp?imânt?tor s? crezi c? din tot acest cosmos atât de armonios, des?vârÅŸit ÅŸi egal cu sine, numai viaÅ£a omului se petrece la întâmplare, numai destinul lui n-are nici un sens.

Dar iubirea aceasta ar putea s?-mi revele ceva. Poate te-am întâlnit ÅŸi m-am îndr?gostit de d-ta ca s? m? înveÅ£i ceva. Înva??-m?, atunci! Spune-mi de ce mi-ai ap?rut în cale. Nu te-am întâlnit aÅŸa, din întâmplare, doar ca s? flirtez cu d-ta; nu-mi place s? flirtez. Nu mi-am înÅŸelat niciodat? soÅ£ia. Dar am simÅ£it, întâlnindu-te, c? mi s-a f?cut un semn.

Making choices that are meaningful to you is the essence of the French woman's secret.

As the French know well, ritual is how we give meaning to different aspects of being alive, including the most elemental: birth, marriage, death, and through it all, until the end, eating.

Making choices that are meaningful to you is the essence of the French woman's secret.

When we psychologize human suffering, we narrow our focus to the individual—perhaps in order to be less overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of human suffering, which, in the modern era, has reached a crescendo of atrocity. In doing so, we lose the connection to anything larger than our family of origin. The sense or meaning we give to pain keeps us stuck in a kind of narcissistic individualism that paradoxically fuels neurosis and emotional suffering.

Umjetnost je lijepa, ali život je ozbiljan.

I used to be a classic workaholic, and after seeing how little work and career really mean when you reach the end of your life, I put a new emphasis on things I believe count more. These things include: family, friends, being part of a community, and appreciating the little joys of the average day.