Quotes About Living

What is the point, then, of dying when the cause is already lost? What is the point of living without a cause worth dying for?

Tourists reminded him of other places and elicited in him a prodding doubt that living here was what he wanted.

He had watched her, after all, mourn her husband's death and it had been for her in part the discovery that grief could attach itself with permanence - something Ishmael had already discovered. It attached itself and then it burrowed inside and made a nest and stayed. It ate whatever was warm nearby, and then the coldness settled in permanently. You learned to live with it.

the only thing to do was not worry about it at all, and have the best damn time you could while you were around. Of course, being a leader helped. You were always too busy bringing in air and artillery, moving your people and shepherding your herd, to take time to focus in on yourself, on where you might be in a moment's time.

What is a city? What should it be? Why do we live in groups? What do we want from cities? And who decides?

We think we are in the land of the living going to the land of the dying. But really we are in the land of the dying, going to the land of the living.

There is the sudden. There is the eventual. And in between, there is the living.

Gone is not forgotten, but our lives cannot be a memorial. This city cannot be a memorial. This city has to be a city. Our lives have to be our lives.

Anticipation is no longer needed- because the moment is now.

Any time I let it, the weight of living creeps in and starts to drag her down. It would be too easy to say that I feel invisible. Instead, I feel painfully visible, and entirely ignored. People talk to her, but it feels like they are outside a house, talking through the walls. There are friends, but they are people to spend time with, not people to share time with. There's a false beast that takes the form of instinct and harps on the pointlessness of everything that happens.

No past. No future. Just present. Give it a chance.

you live each day one at a time you live every day all at once you live with the possibility of good-bye you move on.

I know people always talk about living in the middle of nowhere—there's always another place (some city, some foreign country) they'd rather be. But it's moments like this that I feel like I live in the middle of somewhere. My somewhere.

Later I will see there is a poem on the back of each wing. Poems that are not about us, but are about trees and teacups, fields and glances. Not about us, but about the things we hold dear. The moments we both collect by living our lives, together and alone. Rearranged alphabets, dream-remnant wonder, the seat of our love.

living life instead of just thinking about it.

I don't think anything can stay, he tells me. Good or bad. So I think the important part is to not get caught up in worrying about whether something will stay, and instead enjoy it for the time it's here.

I think the important part is to not get caught up in worrying about whether something will stay, and instead enjoy it for the time it's here.

We were once the ones who were dreaming and loving and screwing. We were once the ones who were living, and then we were the ones who were dying. We sewed ourselves, a thread's width, into your history.

He is tired, but he's free. He is living, because he's in motion.

I'm not talking what you preach-- there is no practicing here. I am talking living what you preach. And to do that, you gotta preach what you live. I know what I'm here for And I know what the Lord is here for. The gospel. I will live and die by the Gospel.

David Foster Wallace: Because I'd like to be the sort of person who can enjoy things at the time instead of having to go back in my head and enjoy them then.

You don't think your way to a new way of living. You live your way to a new way of thinking.

I won't put in a load of laundry, because the machine is too loud and would drown out other, more significant noises - namely, the shuffling footsteps of the living dead.

As I searched the atlas for somewhere to run to, Hugh made a case for his old stomping grounds. His first suggestion was Beirut, where he went to nursery school. His family left there in the midsixties and moved to the Congo. After that, it was Ethiopia, and then Somalia, all fine places in his opinion. 'Let's save Africa and the Middle East for when I decide to quit living,' I said.