Quotes About Meaning

Seek out that particular mental attribute which makes you feel most deeply and vitally alive, along with which comes the inner voice which says, 'This is the real me,' and when you have found that attitude, follow it.

We do not interpret rightly any single passage of Scripture until we locate the text within this larger fabric of meaning in Scripture as a whole.

and among the many, many things I've had time to think about (such as what's worth living for? what's worth dying for? what's completely foolish to pursue?) I've been thinking a lot about what Hobie said: about those images that strike the heart and set it blooming like a flower, images that open up some much, much larger beauty that you can spend your whole life looking for and never find.

beauty has to be wedded to something more meaningful. Only what is that thing? Why am I made the way I am? Why do I care about all the wrong things, and nothing at all for the right ones? Or, to tip it another way: how can I see so clearly that everything I love or care about is illusion, and yet—for me, anyway—all that's worth living for lies in that charm?

But does it make any sense at all to know that it ends badly for all of us, even the happiest of us, and that we all lose everything that matters in the end - and yet to know as well, despite all this, as cruelly as the game is stacked, that it's possible to play it with a kind of joy?

E talvez seja ridículo continuar nesse raciocínio, embora não importe já que ninguém nunca vai ver isso, mas será que faz algum sentido saber que acaba mal pra todo mundo, até para os mais felizes de nós, e que todos perdemos tudo o que importa no final, e ao mesmo tempo saber que, apesar de tudo isso, segundo a cruel elaboração do jogo, é possível jogá-lo com uma espécie de alegria?

It's not about outward appearances but inward significance.

To try to make some meaning out of all this seems

Tiene algún sentido saber que termina mal para todos, incluso para los más felices, pues al final todos perdemos lo que importa, y saber al mismo tiempo que, pese a ello, con toda la crueldad que implica el juego, es posible jugar con una especie de alegría?

It's not about outward appearances but inward significance. A grandeur in the world, but not of the world, a grandeur that the world doesn't understand.

Across those unbridgeable distances—between bird and painter, painting and viewer—I hear only too well what's being said to me, a psst from an alleyway as Hobie put it, across four hundred years of time, and it's really very personal and specific.

Tenemos el arte para no morir de la verdad.   NIETZSCHE

Nil sub sole novum [...] Qualsiasi azione, nella pienezza del tempo, sprofonda nel nulla.

Weren't we, as sentient beings, put upon the earth to be happy, in the brief time allotted to us?

There's a pattern and we're a part of it. Yet if you scratched very deep at that idea of pattern, you hit an emptiness so dark that it destroyed, categorically, anything you'd ever looked at or thought of as light.

I love this painting because it speaks to all mankind.' That's not the reason anyone loves a piece of art. It's a secret whisper from an alleyway. Psst, you. Hey kid. Yes you.

V. We have art in order not to die from the truth. —NIETZSCHE

is nothing wrong with the love of Beauty. But Beauty—unless she is wed to something more meaningful—is always superficial.

but does it make any sense at all to know that it ends badly for all of us, and that we all lose everything that matters in the end-and yet to know as well, despite all this, as cruelly as the game is stacked, that it's possible to play it with a kind of joy?

how can I see so clearly that everything I love or care about is illusion, and yet -- for me, anyway -- all that's worth living for lies in that charm?

the space where I exist, and want to keep existing, and to be quite frank I hope I die in, is exactly this middle distance: where despair struck pure otherness and created something sublime.

If they do, I certainly want to have an excuse for having been here. And pick up that match," he said sourly to Francis

Understand, by saying 'God,' I am merely using 'God' as a reference to long-term pattern we can't decipher. Huge, slow-moving weather system rolling in on us from afar, blowing us randomly like— But—maybe not so random and impersonal as all that, if you get me. […] The point is maybe that the point is too big to see or work round to on our own.

There is nothing wrong with the love of Beauty. But Beauty — unless she is wed to something more meaningful — is always superficial.