Quotes About Absence

The vacancy left by absence of worship is filled by mere killing of time and by boredom, which is directly related to inability to enjoy leisure; for one can only be bored if the spiritual power to be leisurely has been lost. There is an entry in Baudelaire... "One must work, if not from taste then at least from despair. For, to reduce everything to a single truth: work is less boring than pleasure.

When there's a person, there's a problem. When there's no person, there's no problem.

In my Lucia's absence Life hangs upon me, and becomes a burden; I am ten times undone, while hope, and fear, And grief, and rage and love rise up at once, And with variety of pain distract me.

True humility is the absence of anyone to be proud." Humility is not a stance; it is simply the absence of self. In the same way, relationship is the absence of separation, and it can be felt with each breath, each sensation, each thought, each cloud in the sky, each person that we meet. "And being nothing, you are everything. That is all.

Why are they going to disappear him?' I don't know.' It doesn't make sense. It isn't even good grammar.

The absence of theistic belief... { Defining the word 'atheism' }

God often visits us, but most of the time we are not at home.

disappearance.

You know we had nothing to do with that

He died when he was only nineteen years old. I was still a baby at the time, so I didn't remember him. Growing up, I'd always told myself that was lucky. Because you can't miss someone you don't remember. But the truth was, I did miss him.

Viniste a visitarme en sueños pero el vacío que dejaste cuando te fuiste fue realidad.

What is the meaning of the immense silence that surrounds the dead?

Gli assenti hanno bisogno di una voce che li chiami fuori dall'assenza e li costringa a starci nuovamente, per la durata di una canzone almeno

My current life, I realized, was constructed around an absence; for all its richness I still felt as if the floors might give way, as if its core were only a covering of leaves, and I would slip through, falling endlessly, never to get my footing.

They never returned. Only the old were left. And they began to die off. Those who did not die left the village by other means. In the end there was only one widow left, a dressmaker, and she began to sew the visages of those who had vanished. She hand-stitched the bodies and the clothes; she perfected the faces. Each and every doll was a precise replica of someone who once lived there.

If something you want is slow to come to you, it can be for only one reason: You are spending more time focused upon its absence than you are about its presence. If

When you're out of sight for as long as I was, there's a funny feeling of betrayal that comes over people when they see you again.

Morning. Vast. Imprecision. Fog has covered everything in gray absolute. This has lasted. Doubt looms over the mind. Absence is harder to accept than death.

But already there is some ambiguity, for does black designate a "color" that does not reflect light (and if so, why label it a color?), or does black designate the "color" that results in the total absence of light? Without light, no color, and without color, there is only black – and yet black is not a color.

The expository head has a message (though not its own message), a message whose efficacy derives, in part, from the almost metaphysical presence of the head, and the equally metaphysical absence of the body.

Absent one, how I miss you on this shore that conjures you and fades if you're away

Sale un' ora d' attesa in cielo, vacua, dal mare che s'ingrigia. Un albero ill nuvole sull' acqua cresce, poi crolla come di cinigia. Assente, come manem in questa plaga che ti presente e senza te consuma: sei lontana e pero tutto divaga dal suo soleo, dirupa, spare in bruma.

I asked him for a bedtime story. I didn't really want a story, I just wanted him to talk to me. He couldn't think of anything. When I woke up he was gone but there was a letter on my bed that began, "So, you wanted a bedtime story….

Tessa] knew about phantom limbs [....] Her cheek, where the Englishman's fingers had been, did not exactly ache ... but very strangely, most curiously ... it felt.