Quotes About Meaning

Grief is beautiful?' She thought it was the most dreadful feeling possible. At best she viewed the world through a haze, and at worst everything looked black. 'It means you've loved another with all your heart,' Luka said. 'What's the use of being alive if you've never loved like that, not even once?

Whenever I heard it, whoever said it to me, it felt the same. Like it didn't really mean anything. Because they weren't saying it about the real me. But what if they were? What if everyone who ever said they loved you meant it? How could they? How could any of them have ever meant it when no one but you has ever really known the real me?

that was only because he was mere

But she was looking for a life partner. For the one person she could trust no matter what. For the man who not only meant everything to her, but for whom she meant everything, too.

I ask Andrew if he would mind offering some advice to younger people about how to live. He thinks they should ask themselves, What are my values? How do I want to live my life? What do I care about? And then, Does my living situation feed that or does it take away from that? Oh

The object of a religion or a philosophy is not to make men wealthy or powerful, but to make them, in the last issue, happy: that is, to fulfil their being.

Every human life has a secret essence, it's a secret even to the possessor, because you don't know what to make of it.

What are my options?" she asked as I climbed into the driver's seat. "Meaningless euphemisms at one end and your full-on Unseen University at the other," I said. "The Unseen University is a bit like Hogwart's—" Stephanopoulos cut me off. "I have read some Terry Pratchett," she said.

Is that your professional opinion?" "Yes." "Which as usual," said Seawoll, "is as about as useful as a chocolate teapot.

Vita non est vivere sed valere vita est," he said — Life is more than merely staying alive.

But I've learned that just because something isn't real doesn't mean it's not important.

The entirety of existence was a text waiting to be read.

A single message, no matter how apparently unambiguous, can mean more than one thing. I'm counting on it.

Even harder was describing his sense that Shroom's death might have ruined him for anything else, because when he died? when I felt his soul pass through me? I loved him so much right then, I don't think I can ever have that kind of love for anybody again. So what was the point of getting married, having kids, raising a family if you knew you couldn't give them your very best love?

One of the greatest things drama can do, at it's best, is to redefine the words we use every day such as love, home, family, loyalty and envy. Tragedy need not be a downer.

The fatal problem with poetry: poems.

I don't want what we're doing to just end up as notes for a novel.

But there are no grown-ups, that's what you must grow up to know fully; your parents were just two more bodies experiencing landscape and weather, trying to make sense by vibrating columns of air, redescribing contingency as necessity with religion or World Ice Theory or the Jewish science, cutting profound truths with their opposites as the regimes of meaning collapse into the spread.

The feeling of a fiction collapsing inside you. A fiction you'd forgotten was there. Frame, crossbeams, slats, braces, joins. Revealing the softer sapwood, which is marked by candle burns. ...Jonathan holding both of my hands under the table, one of the first times we'd really touched. You must think I'm a lunatic. No, I think it's a beautiful story. About family and art and memory and meaning, how it's made and unmade.

Our contempt for any particular poem must be perfect, be total, because only a ruthless reading that allows us to measure the gap between the actual and the virtual will enable to to experience, if not a genuine poem—no such thing—a place for the genuine, whatever that might mean.

I wish all difficult poems were profound. Honk if you wish all difficult poems were profound.

the abyss of non-belief, the vacuum, cannot be filled with stuff

he was nevertheless more in the realm of poetry than of prose, his speech stretched by speed and intensity until he felt its referential meaning dissolve into pure form.

The stars dehisce. By "stars" I mean, of course, tradition , and by "tradition" I mean nothing at all. A pronoun disembowels his antecedent. Stop me if you've heard this one before.