Quotes About Meaning

Phillipa blew out her breath. Running a finger along the soft flower petals, she unfolded the note. For Phillipa, she read to herself, I hope adding yellow daisies isn't too forward. I asked Lady Fennington for their meaning, and she said white means "purity," while yellow means "slighted." I'm taking them to mean "frustrated." Because I am frustrated that you are still pure. Bennett. She snorted.

Until the battle with the Revanche he hadn't thought he would ever tire of gazing at the horizon. Only since then had he noticed that the view was . . . empty.

What are you doing, terrorizing the virgins?

I don't know why I'm still here. All right? And I'd just like to figure it out before I go.

But what is the soul? Some say it is the self, the I that inhabits the body; without the soul, the body is like a lightbulb with no electricity. But it is more than the engine of life, say others; it is what gives life meaning and purpose. Soul is the fingerprint of God.

Flannery never forgot this. Anne Arden, a woman who meant more to Flannery than Flannery felt she could ever have meant to Anne, had found the person she was intended for; so Flannery need not be bitter, and never was. Anne loved Jasper, and was loved. What more could you want for someone who mattered to you?

you showed me what love truly is just by giving yours so selflessly. I wasn't made for love. It wasn't [woven]into the fabric of my being. I didn't know what it was, what I was looking for, what I needed. I had no point of reference, no examples, nothing. Until you.

Por ti, el mundo cobra un sentido para mí que no tenia antes. Ahora ocupo un lugar, contigo. De pronto comprendí por qué había trabajado tan duro, por qué había tenido un éxito tan enorme siendo tan joven. Había luchado para buscar su lugar en el mundo, para ser algo mas que un intruso.

Estoy enamorado de ti —susurró. De entre todas las cosas, ésa era la única que iba bien. Y era suficiente.

Because of you, the world makes sense to me in a way it didn't before. I have a place now, with you.

Everything people did seemed so silly, because they only died in the end.

Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person

What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid.

What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.... If I sit still and don't do anything, the world goes on beating like a slack drum, without meaning. We must be moving, working, making dreams to run toward; the poverty of life without dreams is too horrible to imagine.

I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.

Kiss me and you will see how important I am.

Even in the days I feel the worst, I feel glad to be alive. To be a part of this journey called life. To be one of the lucky 7 billion. Why was I chosen to be here? I must have a meaning, right? There's a big picture already painted of my life, my legacy, my happiness. I just have to trust in it.

When I say I must write, I don't mean I must publish. There is a great difference. the important thing is the chaotic form given to my chaotic experience, which is, as it was for James Joyce, my kind of religion, and necessary for me...as the confession and absolution for a Catholic in church.

morrer é uma arte, como tudo o mais. nisso sou excepcional. desse jeito faço parecer infernal. desse jeito faço parecer real. vão dizer que tenho vocação

Félek. Hogy mirÅ'l? Leginkább a meg nem élt élettÅ'l. Mi számít?

And so I could go on, into my thoughts, writing much, trying to find the core, the meaning for myself. Perhaps that would help, to synthesize my ideas into a philosophy for me...

What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination. When the sky outside is merely pink, and the rooftops merely black: that photographic mind which paradoxically tells the truth, but the worthless truth, about the world. It is that synthesizing spirit, that shaping force, which prolifically sprouts and makes up its own worlds with more inventiveness than God which I desire. If I sit still and don't do anything, the world goes on beating like a slack drum, without meaning.

So you will rot in the ground, and so you say, what the hell? Who cares? But you care, and somehow you don't want to live just one life.

Do you know what a poem is, Esther?" "No, what?" I said. "A piece of dust.