Quotes About Meaning

The difference between lie and lay . Lay is always passive. Even men used to say, I'd like to get laid. Though sometimes they said, I'd like to lay her. All this is pure speculation. I don't really know what men used to say. I had only their words for it.

So that made me happy but the part that really made me happy was that you wanted me to be happy. That's what Thank you means.

I sit in the chair and think about the word chair. It can also mean the leader of a meeting. It can also mean a mode of execution. It is the first syllable in charity. It is the French word for flesh. None of these facts has any connection with the others. These are the kinds of litanies I use, to compose myself.

Where was the threshold, between the inner world and the outer one? We each move unthinkingly through this gateway every day, we use the passwords of grammar-- I say, you say, he and she, it, on the other hand, does not say --paying for the privilege of sanity with common coin, with meanings we've agreed on.

How potent was that word. With.

I almost gasp: he's said a forbidden word. Sterile. There is no such thing as a sterile man anymore, not officially. There are only women who are fruitful and women who are barren, that's the law.

But I'm ravenous for news, any kind of news; even if it's false news, it must mean something.

I love you. You're the only one. She isn't the first woman he's ever said that to. He shouldn't have used it up so much earlier in his life, he shouldn't have treated it like a tool, a wedge, a key to open women. By the time he got around to meaning it, the words had sounded fraudulent to him and he'd been ashamed to pronounce them.

He has something we don't have, he has the word.

Just remember, dear Friends, What am I living for and what am I dying for are the same question.

I am not being wasted. Why do I want?

How soon before there are ancient texts they feel they have to obey but have forgotten how to interpret?

But people will do anything rather than admit that their lives have no meaning.

Death is a beautiful woman, with wings and one breast almost bare; or is that Victory? I can't remember. They

Hang on to the words, he tells himself. The odd words, the old words, the rare ones. Valance. Norn. Serendipity. Pibroch. Lubricious. When they're gone out of his head, these words, they'll be gone, everywhere, forever. As if they had never been.

I feared I might lose my faith. If you've never had a faith, you will not understand what that means. You feel as if your best friend is dying; that everything that defined you is being burned away; that you'll be left all alone. You feel exiled, as if you are lost in a dark wood. It was like the feeling I'd had when Tabitha died: the world was emptying itself of meaning. Everything was hollow. Everything was withering.

No reply is in itself a reply.

Do you know what it came from? said Luke. Mayday? It's French, he said. From m'aidez. Help me.

It's French, he said. From m'aidez. Help me.

This is the kind of touch they like: folk art, archaic, made by women, in their spare time, from things that have no further use. A return to traditional values. Waste not want not. I am not being wasted. Why do I want?

They understood about dreaming, he knew that: they dreamed themselves. Crake hadn't been able to eliminate dreams. We're hard-wired for dreams, he'd said. He couldn't get rid of the singing either. We're hard-wired for singing. Singing and dreams were entwined.

They put the picture in the window when they have something, take it away when they don't. Sign language.

But I'm ravenous for news, any kind of news; even if it's false news, it must mean something. We

As for you, she'd say to me, you're just a backlash. Flash in the pan. History will absolve me. But