Quotes About Meaning

in the end, each life is irreducible to anything other than itself. Which is as much as to say: lives make no sense.

Language, then, not simply as a list of separate things to be added up and whose sum total is equal to the world. Rather, language as it is laid out in the dictionary: an infinitely complex organism, all of whose elements […] are present in the world simultaneously, none of which can exist on its own. For each word is defined by other words, which means that to enter any part of language is to enter the whole of it

You understood that there was no better thing in the world than to be kissed in the way she was kissing you, that this was without argument the single most important justification for being alive.

If there is nothing, then, but silence, is it not presumptuous of me to speak? And yet, if there had been anything more than silence, would I have felt the need to speak in the first place?

Of all the interpretations I've considered over the years, this is the one I like best. That doesn't mean it's true, but as long as it could be true, it pleases me to think it is.

Is that what we mean by life? Let everything fall away, and then let's see what there is. Perhaps that is the most interesting question of all: to see what happens when there is nothing, and whether or not we will survive that too.

For me, books were not the containers of words so much as the words themselves, and the value of a given book was determined by its spiritual quality rather than its physical condition.

En última instancia, una vida no es más que la suma de hechos contingentes, una crónica de intersecciones casuales, de azares, de sucesos fortuitos que no revelan nada más que su propia falta de propósito.

Non ho la minima idea di cosa stia dicendo. Harry svolazza nella magniloquenza scodellando le sue enigmatiche profezie per il puro piacere narcisistico di ascoltarsi, e non vedo il senso di protrarre la conversazione.

Amare le parole, investire una parte di sé in quello che è scritto, credere nel potere dei libri: tutto ciò sommerge il resto, e al confronto la propria vita individuale diventa insignificante.

Llevo mucho tiempo luchando por decirle adiós a algo, y esta lucha es lo único que de veras importa. La historia no está en las palabras; está en la lucha.

No one can say where a book comes from, least of all the person who writes it. Books are born out of ignorance, and if they go on living after they are written, it's only to the degree that they cannot be understood.

Silence is not a rewarding response, no matter what it means.

Words do not necessarily work, it is possible for them to obscure the things they are trying to say.

In the good mystery there is nothing wasted, no sentence, no word that is not significant. And

But it does matter, Archie. Everything matters.

el arte era una actividad humana que se apoyaba en los sentidos para llegar al alma,

Nimeni nu poate spune ce anume d? na?tere unei c?rti, ?i cu atât mai pu?in cel care o scrie. C?r?ile se nasc din ignoran?? iar dac? tr?iesc ?i dup? ce au fost scrise, asta se întâmpl? numai ?i numai pentru c? nu pot fi în?elese.

en ilginç olan da Sisifos Söyleni'nin ilk cümleleriydim: "Gerçekten ciddi olan tek bir felsefi sorun vard?r, o da intihard?r. Ya?am?n ya?amaya de?er olup olmad??? hakk?mda karar vermek felsefenin o temel sorununu cevaplamaktan ibarettir.

He wants to say. That is to say, he means. As in the French, 'vouloir dire,' which means, literally, to want to say, but which means, in fact, to mean. He means to say what he wants. He wants to say what he means. He says what he wants to mean. He means what he says.

and just then, in one of those unbidden flashes of insight, it occurred to him that nothing was meaningless, that everything in the world was connected to everything else.

Man, didn't anybody ever tell you that art is propaganda? It doesn't matter whether you think it should be or it shouldn't be, it just is, and motherfucker, like or not, you're sitting on a funky Magna Carta.

The formulaic repetitiveness of filing and stuffing envelopes appeals to me in some fundamental life-affirming way.

It was hard to say if the statement was some sort of suicidal ideation, but one could hope.