Quotes About Insubstantial

Sliding on to a very public bench, dead centre of Ross. He was feeling heavy but insubstantial, like vinegar-soaked fish and chip paper tossed from a passing car.

The great discovery in our practice is that, on one level, birth and death, existence and nonexistence, self and other are the great defining themes of our lives. And on another level, it's all just a dance of insubstantial appearances, what the Buddha called "the magic show of consciousness.

They are such thin things, these lives of ours; cheap got, cheap lost, mere flickers against the ever dark, brief shadows on a wall. This life no more substantial than breath, a light which fills the chambers of our bodies, and is gone.

Perhaps Eurydice wants to remain marginal, a shade insubstantial… the mute waste in a limbo without light and without depth are a style of anima fascinations in which the absence of significance is the significance.

I could now look down at ghostly fingers, wraith-like toes, and a phantom wang.

A city with all the personality of a paper cup. (On Los Angeles)

A man is nothing but breath and shadow.

To me gender is not physical at all, but is altogether insubstantial. It is soul, perhaps, it is talent, it is taste, it is environment, it is how one feels, it is light and shade, it is inner music.

In a room with many windows some thoughts slide past uncatchable, ghostly.

There is a wicked and pervading arrogance loose on the earth, like a rabid beast, an overdog. Does it run, does it slouch, does its name have a number? The beast preaches contempt, for that's what arrogance says: that nothing is real but itself, and the bone and blood of another's being are insubstantial as breath.

How wrong and petty any life is.

you are so bodiless, so barely there

A man is only as effective as the effect he has on his surroundings,' Gordon was saying. 'And if a man is not effective, if his very being is as insubstantial as thought, then what is this man? Is he a man? Or is he merely the thought of a man?

He was of no more consequence than an empty cigarette packet.

You see that in a certain sense content doesn't matter, because whatever it is passes away.

If I could see not one single soul in that wilderness of desolation all around me, then the six of us - mounts and riders, both - could boast amongst us not one soul, either, since all the best religions in the world state categorically that not beasts nor women were equipped with the flimsy, insubstantial things when the good Lord opened the gates of Eden and let Eve and her familiars thumble out.

Whenever you look at light, basically it's just air. It has no tactileness to it. It's totally without density.

He's all hat and no cattle.

She spoke slowly and breathlessly but she was smiling a happy smile. We stepped up and hugged her. She felt cold and frail and insubstantial. She felt like she weighed less than her aluminum walker.

We are all shitty little snowflakes dancing in the universe.

I sometimes think people can see that I'm defective, that there's nothing there. Behind the job and clothes and makeup there's nothing to know. I sometimes think I'm this shell and I can't work out why people like me. And when I'm with strangers it reminds me of that. That I'm insubstantial.

It didn't amount to a fart in a windstorm, nohow.

Be one of many. Be sure that they never have reason to remember your face.

None of us mattered to her, not me, or her critics or defenders. No more than bugs on a lampshade.