Quotes About Purpose

For all you know, this moment, this second, or the next, or the next, could be your destiny. It's not about having plans. It's about having purpose and being who, not what you want to be.

I take it Asher called you?" "What's your endgame here, Henry? Why are you going?

Ik had niet zomaar een plan. Ik had Een Plan.

I couldn't shake the feeling that this life was never meant for me.

How can you dream if you don't have a soul?

Either the universe is a cold dead place with a little growth of sentient but atomized beings each all by him- or herself trying to generate meaning, or we are in a universe that is alive with a growth of sentient beings whose members have made a pact with each other to persevere.

Aurelius says that one reason it doesn't matter how long you live is that this is not theatre, that the whole is not the thing. Each moment is the thing. "The soul obtains its own end, wherever the limit of life may be fixed. Not as...in a play...where the whole action is incomplete if anything cuts it short; but in every part and wherever it be stopped, it makes what has been set before it full and complete, so that it can say, 'I have what is my own.

Based upon the message of "nothing new under the sun" in Ecclesiastes,] If nothing ever changes, then God has no plan.

One must devote oneself to figuring out that one must live for the good, for its own sake. It was a secular morality. Contemporaries did not know what to call a thing like that—he questioned their every faith, their every way of life—so they called it atheism.

Before I die, I want to...be the person I'm meant to be and have that be enough.

Let's go. Let's count for something. Let's get off that ledge.

Is today a good day to die? Is today the day? And if not today–when?

But that isn't why. The why is that none of it matters. Not school, not cheerleading, not boyfriends or friends or parties or creative writing programs or Ã¢â'¬Â¦Ã¢â'¬Â She waves her arms at the world. "It's all just time filler until we die.

I like writing, but I like a lot of things. Maybe out of those things, I'm best at writing. Maybe it's what I like best of all. Maybe it's where I've always felt most at home. Or maybe the writing part of me is over. Maybe there's something else I'm supposed to do instead. I don't know.

He writes Before I die I want to and draws a line. He writes it again. Then he writes it a dozen more times. "After we fill these up, we can keep going on the front of the building and down the other side. It's a good way to figure out just why we're here.

I think I've got a map in my car that wants to be used, and I think there are places we can go that need to be seen. Maybe no one else will ever visit them and appreciate them or take the time to think they're important, but maybe even the smallest places mean something....Let's go. Let's count for something. Let's get off that ledge.

It's all just time filler until we die.

She waves her arms at the world. "It's all just time filler until we die.

Before I Die I Want To Know A Perfect Day.

But that isn't why. The why is that none of it matters. Not school, not cheerleading, not boyfriends or friends or parties or creative writing programs or... It's all just time filler until we die.

Be the person I'm meant to be and have that be enough.

My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery—always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?

My mama's purpose had been to love and to be loved.

In the light of eternity, is it better to sell out and ride or stand up and walk?