Quotes About Transcendence

Buddhas move freely through birth and death, appearing and disappearing at will.

And as long as you're subject to birth and death, you'll never attain enlightenment.

A Buddha doesn't observe precepts. A Buddha doesn't do good or evil. A Buddha isn't energetic or lazy. A Buddha is someone who does nothing, someone who can't even focus his mind on a Buddha. A Buddha isn't a Buddha. Don't think about Buddhas.

El cielo no es humano, pero debe haber algo más que el cielo, la compasión y el amor, pero yo he permitido que se borrasen de mi memoria y cayesen en el olvido.

When my eye lands on a real book and looks past the printed word, what it sees is disembodied thoughts flying through air, gliding on air, living off air, returning to air.

When my eye lands on a real book and looks past the printed word, what it sees is disembodied thoughts flying through air, gliding on air, living off air, returning to air, because in the end everything is air, just as the host is and is not the blood of Christ.

How nice it would be to die swimming toward the sun. —Le Corbusier

It's an extraordinary thing, the moment of surrender. To get down on your knees and ask the silence to save you, to reveal itself to you. To kneel down, to implore, to throw yourself out into space, to quietly whisper or roar your insignificance. To fall prostrate and ask to be carried. To humble yourself with your family, your bandmates, and to discover if there's a face or a name to that silence.

Philosophy is the preparation for death - for leaving the cave of earthly, corporeal existence. And the preparation for death is a lonely and quiet activity - it is the activity of contemplation.

You die. It's over. But right now, I'm not sure.

Wallace) Stevens turns to the idea of the weather precisely as the religious idea turns to the idea of God.

I think that the self, in its quest to be free and solitary, ultimately reads with one aim only: to confront greatness. That confrontation scarcely masks the desire to join greatness, which is the basis of the aesthetic experience once called the Sublime: the quest for a transcendence of limits.

Our gods are remote from us, Jean Louise. They must never descend to human level." "Is

Exista un soi de oameni care ... se gindesc atit de mult la lumea cealalta, incit n-ajung niciodata sa invete cum sa traiasca in lumea asta.

Writing novels is much the same. You gather up bones and make your gate, but no matter how wonderful the gate might be, that alone doesn't make it a living breathing novel. A story is not something of this world. A real story requires a kind of magical baptism to link the world on this side with the world on the other side.

A story is not something of this world. A real story requires a kind of magical baptism to link the world on this side with the world on the other side.

Maybe in some distant place, everything is already, quietly, lost. Or at least there exists a silent place where everything can disappear. Or at least there exists a silent place where everything can disappear, melting together in a single overlapping figure. And as we live our lives we discover—drawing toward us the thin threads attached to each—what has been lost.

As Duke Ellington once said, "There are simply two kinds of music, good music and the other kind." In that sense, jazz and classical music are fundamentally the same. The pure joy one experiences listening to "good" music transcends questions of genre.

And in the movement of the sun, I felt something I hardly know how to name: some huge, cosmic love. 

Slowly like a movie fade out, the real world evaporates. I'm alone, inside the world of the story. My favorite feeling in the world.

They put up with such strenuous training, and where did their thoughts, their hopes and dreams, disappear to? When people pass away, do their thoughts just vanish?

You have to experience it to understand. One thing I can say, though, is that once you see that true sight with your own eyes, the world you've lived in up till now will look flat and insipid. There's no logic or illogic in that scene. No good or evil. Everything is merged into one. And you are part of that merging. You leave the boundary of your physical body behind to become a metaphysical being. You become intuition.

When people pass away, do their thoughts just vanish?

She'd become so beautiful, it defied understanding. Never had I feasted my eyes on such beauty. Beauty of a variety I'd never imagined existed. As expansive as the entire universe, yet as dense as a glacier. Unabashedly excessive, yet at the same time pared down to an essence. It transcended all concepts within the boundaries of my awareness. She was at one with her ears, gliding down the oblique face of time like a protean beam of light.