Quotes About Living

Her great dead friends did not seem worth reading that night. They always said the same things now—over and over again they said the same things, and nothing new was to be got out of them any more for ever. No doubt they were greater than any one was now, but they had this immense disadvantage, that they were dead. Nothing further was to be expected of them; while of the living, what might one not still expect?

The idea of throwing away my depression, of having to create a whole personality, a whole way of living and being that did not contain misery as its leitmotif, was daunting.

I can't forget things that way. There's only one thing for it, and that's to admit everything and accept everything, and find some way of living that doesn't mean always sitting on top of a chest of grudges, trying to keep the lid from opening.

We think in generalities, but we live in detail. To make the past live, we must perceive it in detail in addition to thinking of it in generalities.

When common objects in this way be come charged with the suggestion of horror, they stimulate the imagination far more than things of unusual appearance; and these bushes, crowding huddled about us, assumed for me in the darkness a bizarre grotesquerie of appearance that lent to them somehow the aspect of purposeful and living creatures. Their very ordinariness, I felt, masked what was malignant and hostile to us.

We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; To-day will die to-morrow; Time stoops to no man's lure; And love, grown faint and fretful, With lips but half regretful Sighs, and with eyes forgetful Weeps that no loves endure. From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.

God almighty. It is the dregs, really, to be living in a time when even your dreams have to be post-postmodern consciouser-than-thou.

Okay, I said. As long as I've got you here, we're going to use and appreciate this present moment. Because I wish, and I've wished a thousand times since you went, that we'd known it was the present, and that we were living in it.

In spite of the surprises and anxieties and responsibilities of living, this was rather a nice world.

Fairness demanded that grief should find succor, that wounds should heal, insult and confusion find recompense and certainty, that every living person God had made should not, willy-nilly, be forever unmade.

Emotion isn't really what I felt . . . Living, one is so detached.

the same dizziness the same life like a metal beam whacks me on the head again as when a man slinks home after battle alive alive and nobody else was that lucky who is it trapped in this living shape pushing the door with his hands still covered in blood

so many names in this place not many of us left living on the last we can find can you hear this

this is the the sound this is the very floor where Grief and his Wife are living looking up

Heaven is comfort, but it's still not living.

But it was difficult, this living in real time only, and not diluting it by looking back or skipping forward. No wonder it's never really caught on with most people, I thought. It's just too hard.

Activism is my rent for living on the planet.

Death is a gift meant to wake up the living, to nudge us toward a life of purpose and intention.

No, he thought. I didn't die. Not yet. He realized, with surprise, that he was happy. Happiness wasn't what he had thought it was: it was like the dragonfly, a fragile winged thing that arrived, unsought and unexpected, and graced the work of living. You couldn't hunt it down; you couldn't hold it. But sometimes, in a blessed moment, it was there. It was good to be alive.

She deserves that feeling, that lightness, the ability to move, to live again. We deserve it. I raise my glass to karma—which,

Se ha visto, bajo la influencia de ciertos médiums, aparecer manos teniendo todas las propiedades de manos vivientes que tienen calor, que se pueden tocar, que ofrecen la resistencia de un cuerpo sólido que os agarran, y que de repente se desvanecen como una sombra.

Don't have time for memories, too busy making them

Fortunately art is a community effort --a small but select community living in a spiritualized world endeavoring to interpret the wars and the solitudes of the flesh.

Yet we're so weary of living with the ongoing crisis that we return to the same behaviors and habits—and our adult children have us pegged.