Quotes About Random

The great mystery is not that we should have been thrown down here at random between the profusion of matter and that of the stars; it is that from our very prison we should draw, from our own selves, images powerful enough to deny our nothingness.

But not in life. In life it's just a shrug and I did this thing and then that thing happened, and then this happened. And you never know what the big thing is until you look back and think, OMG, that was it. How did I not know it? It's maddening in a way. How random it is.

Yearly data put the rest of the noise into perspective. Most of the weekly or monthly random up-and-down movements get smoothed out. Ultimately, this is where long-term investors should be focused.

When I first moved to L.A., I cleaned apartments after people moved out. When people move, they leave stuff behind and haven't cleaned for weeks. I like to clean - I have no problem with cleaning - but some apartments were filthy and disgusting. And there'd always be a random flip-flop left somewhere on its own.

There are good people who are dealt a bad hand by fate, and bad people who live long, comfortable, privileged lives. A small twist of fate can save or end a life; random chance is a permanent, powerful player in each of our lives, and in human history as well.

I think wickets just depend on how lucky you are at the time.

One lucky shot deserves another.

For Pakistan cricket to stay relevant and strong, the best players have to be available all the time - it's a challenge faced by everyone, but one that particularly relates to us because of our mainly amateur, pretty random, and certainly too thinly spread domestic structure that feeds the national team.

She would wake up in the middle of the night and say things like "What if Bad Bad Leroy Brown was a girl?" or "Why don't they have commercials for salt like they do for milk?

His membership in the human race was entirely accidental and unsolicited.

Indiscriminate use among unintelligent leads to chaos.

A just society is a society that if you knew everything about it, you'd be willing to enter it in a random place.

The dance that I wasn't going to attend in about a jillion years just turned into a make-out session with random boys we have never met.

In a world where time is a sense, like sight or like taste, a sequence of episodes may be quick or may be slow, dim or intense, salty or sweet, causal or without cause, orderly or random, depending on the prior history of the viewer.

Philosophers have argued without a trend toward order; time would lack meaning. The future would be indistinguishable from the past. Sequences of events would be just so many random scenes from a thousand novels. History would be indistinct, like the mist slowly gathered by treetops in evening.

Through my blue fingers, pink grains are falling, haphazard, random, a disorganized stream of silicone that seems pregnant with the possibility of every conceivable shape… But this is illusion. Things have their shape in time, not space alone. Some marble blocks have statues within them, embedded in their future.

Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves; go into oblivion. There is nothing else. Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us.

Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose.

Bed-sheet creases print a river delta on Mick's back and in his restlessness it strikes him that civilisation and its history are similarly bagatelles, deluded into thinking that their progress has the ordered logic of a chess match when it's more the random ping of Tiddlywinks.

Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us.

It is not entirely impossible that I might, like my mother, come to the end of my days murmuring, about some random memory: "It was absolutely divine.

Well chaps first I'd like to say a few vile things more or less at random, not only because it is expected of me but also because I enjoy it.

Beauty is excrescence, superabundance, random ebulience, and sheer delightful waste to be enjoyed in its own right.

Life itself is a haphazard, untidy, messy affair.