Quotes About Insubstantial

Theories are always very thin and insubstantial, experience only is tangible.

Here today, not there tomorrow, gone leaving no incriminating evidence of my unpopular halfbaked world view. That's a good girl.

When she looked down the hall at Anne and at me it was as if she looked straight through us, as if we were nothing but clear panes of Venetian glass and all she wanted to know was what might be beyond. She did not seem to envy us, nor see us as rivals to her father's attention or even as a danger to her mother's place. She saw us as a pair of light women, so insubstantial that the wind might blow us away in a merciful puff. She

Oh, my bad...I'm sorry for bothering you. I forgot I only exist when you need me for something.

Attraction and aversion create a sense of self. There is no self. They are just thoughts. They are insubstantial. When you die, all the ideas of self will go away.

For it looked as if the walls were simply dissolving in the rain; those stones still standing, pale and insubstantial as rice paper, seemed ready to melt away under my very eyes if I just stood there long enough.

He was as uncontainable as a handful of water: if you squeezed, it trickled away.

How light Must dreams themselves be; seeing they're more slight Than the mere nothing that engenders them!

She is hollowed out, her edges blurred and insubstantial. She might disintegrate, break apart, like a raindrop hitting a leaf. She cannot leave this place, she cannot pass through this gate. She can not leave him here.

A poor creature who has said or done nothing worth a serious man taking the trouble of remembering.

The artist inhabits a strange world, an insubstantial world of shadows and essences, one whose boundaries are perhaps more permeable than normal

Your Big Bang theory is similar to the number zero. Useless to begin with.

Autour de lui il n'y avait que de l'insaisissable. de l'impalpable. ô combien impalpable !

It would be terrible to be small and foolish.

Strange people. The kind that leave the merest blur behind them, soon vanished. Hutte and I often used to talk about these traceless beings. They spring up out of nothing one fine day and return there, having sparkled a little. Beauty queens. Gigolos. Butterflies. Most of them, even when alive, had no more substance than steam which will never condense.

There was no smell, no texture, no temperature to it. It had as much substance as a politician's promise.

Nothing to lose is so empty, so light, that the sand you crumble to at last blows away in a gust, so insubstantial it's carried upwards to shirr into the sandstorm of the stars. That's where we all get to. The rest is just wearing thin waiting for the wind.