Quotes About Meaning

All the intimate associations of our life, all its experience of pleasure and pain, group themselves around this display of the divine love, and from the drama that we witness in him. The touch of an infinite mystery passes over the trivial and the familiar, making it break out into ineffable music. The trees and the stars and the blue hills appear to us as symbols aching with a meaning which can never be uttered in words.

When death comes and whispers to me 'Thy days are ended.' let me say to him, 'I have lived in love and not in mere time.' He will ask 'Will thy songs remain?' I shall say 'I know not, but this I know that often when I sang I found my eternity.

Thy gifts to us mortals fulfil all our needs and yet run back to thee undiminished. The river has its everyday work to do and hastens through fields and hamlets; yet its incessant stream winds towards the washing of thy feet. The flower sweetens the air with its perfume; yet its last service is to offer itself to thee. Thy worship does not impoverish the world. From the words of the poet men take what meanings please them; yet their last meaning points to thee.

Nic, co se týká ?lovÄ›ka, není jasné. Slovo, které má ve slovníku jediný význam, dostává v lidském životÄ› význam? sedm - jako když se Ganga rozdÄ›lí, než se vleje do moÃ…â"¢e.

Thou hast led me through my crowded travels of the day to my evening's loneliness. I wait for its meaning through the stillness of the night.

Like my heart's pain that has long missed its meaning, the sun's rays robed in dark hide themselves under the ground. Like my heart's pain at love's sudden touch, they change their veil at the spring's call and come out in the carnival of colors, in flowers and leaves.

For the elements which have lost their living bond of reality have lost the meaning of their existence.

The Yogi dyes his garments with red: but if he knows naught of     that colour of love, what does it avail though his garments be     tinted?

It was an interesting idea, I said, that the narrative impulse might spring from the desire to avoid guilt, rather than from the need – as was generally assumed – to connect things together in a meaningful way; that it was a strategy calculated, in other words, to disburden ourselves of responsibility.

Suffering had always appeared to me as an opportunity, I said, and I wasn't sure I would ever discover whether this was true and if so why it was, because so far I had failed to understand what it might be an opportunity for. All I knew was that it carried a kind of honour, if you survived it, and left you in a relationship to the truth that seemed closer, but that in fact might have been identical to the truthfulness of staying in one place.

The rules of writing are mostly indistinguishable from the rules of living, but this tends to be the last place people look when searching for 'there'.

ellipsis, he'd been told, could literally be translated as 'to hide behind silence'. It's fascinating stuff, he said.

I]t has struck me that along with all other losses, I might lose friendship, too. I am not equal anymore to the people that I know, and what is friendship but a celebration of equality?

Suffering had always appeared to me as an opportunity, I said, and I wasn't sure I would ever discover whether this was true and if so why it was, because so far I had failed to understand what it might be an opportunity for.

It [beauty] had always felt like something I might find, or something I had temporarily lost, or something I was pursuing.

Yet the illusion of meaning recurred, much as you tried to resist it: like childhood, I said, which we treat as an explanatory text rather than merely as a formative experience of powerlessness.

In other words, it was nobody's fault; but all the same it was brought home to me how much of what was beautiful in their lives was the result of a shared vision of things that strictly speaking could not have been said to exist.

The thing is,' he said,' 'that kind of life - the parties, the drugs, the staying up all night - is basically repetitive. It doesn't get you anywhere and it isn't meant to, because what it represents is freedom... And to stay free... you have to reject change.

I am one of those who believes that without suffering there can be no art

There have doubtless been a number of such incidents, but this one has stayed in my mind. One reason, I suppose, has to do with narrative, with the fact that the meaning of this woman's life was entirely altered by a single event at its end: this is not how stories generally work.

Em arte a gente não quer astúcias intelectuais, mas vida pulsando, embora sem saber como pulsa e por que pulsa

Ms. Doman had this whole thing about how we have to tell stories about whatever happens to us, and then we can use those stories to decide whether out lives are happy or not, whether events have redeeming aspects or are totally hopeless, that it's really all about how we choose to shape and name things.

we, from very liberty and reaction, were tending towards emptiness and eventual disintegration.

A weathered cork sat inside the box lined with green velvet. It had turned a darker brown and was a little shriveled, but the name Moet & Chandon was still clearly visible. Vivien reached inside and pulled out her mother's cork. The one she'd searched for in the bed of red impatiens. To anyone else, it was nothing. Just a weathered piece of nothing. To Vivien, it was everything.