Quotes About Emptiness

Entre el penis i les matemàtiques, senyor Baryton, no hi ha res! Res! Hi ha el buit!

It still had electricity and running water, the stove worked, the coffee maker could still brew, the refrigerator kept food cold. But the house had become a phantom. It was no longer living and breathing, surrounding the family and making them feel safe. It wafted along, an untethered spirit, drained of everything it once had been.

With all our gifts, all the love we have for one another, what went wrong? That's what I want to know. That one missing piece." "Life, Mom

Death had snatched colour away with the Prince's life.

I'm so sorry for people who live in lands where there are no Mayflowers," said Anne. "Diana says perhaps they have something better, but there couldn't be anything better than Mayflowers, could there, Marilla? And Diana says if they don't know what they are like they don't miss them. But I think that is the saddest thing of all. I think it would be tragic, Marilla, not to know what Mayflowers are like and not to miss them

I understand only that a vast void, an emptiness, is needing to be filled. O the things we grasp at.

That dreaded silence. Most people of the Western mindset live in fear of it. They stay busy to escape its emptiness. Cut off from their own animal nature by processed food and air-conditioned offices, they occupy themselves with television and home-improvement projects to keep at bay the uncharted darkness within.

We crossed a wide river and then everything changed. There were no more fields, no houses, no trees, not even telephone poles. Even the colours were gone, all of them except brown and grey and blue of the late-afternoon sky. The world got emptier and emptier until it looked like a brown ocean of dead velvet, just emptiness covered with short dry grass and low scrub.

Bastien still felt empty. Blood wasn't what he was hungry for. What he yearned for. What he really wanted was someone of his own. Someone to complete him. He wanted to belong to someone. To someone who could accept his differences and embrace him with them. He wanted unconditional love. More to the point, he wanted Terri's unconditional love.

sufletul mi-a fost stricat de lume, am o imaginaÈ›ie f?r? astâmp?r, inima mi-e avid?; pentru mine totul e puÈ›in: m? obiÈ™nuiesc la fel de repede cu tristeÈ›ea ca È™i cu desf?tarea, iar viaÈ›a îmi devine tot mai pustie pe zi ce trece

My soul has been spoiled by the world, my imagination is unquiet, my heart insatiate. To me everything is of little moment. I become as easily accustomed to grief as to joy, and my life grows emptier day by day

I had no children, I did not transmit to any creature the legacy of our misery.

Lascivious one, the voluptuousness of nothing awaits you.

All too often we bemoan our imperfections rather than embrace them as part of the process in which we are brought to God. Cherished emptiness gives God space in which to work. We are pure capacity for God. Let us not, then, take our littleness lightly. It is a wonderful grace. It is a gift to receive. At the same time, let us not get trapped in the confines of our littleness, but keep pushing on to claim our greatness. Remind yourself often, "I am pure capacity for God; I can be more.

It's a strange thing, how you can love somebody, how you can be all eaten up inside with needing them--and they simply don't need you. That's all there is to it, and neither of you can do anything about it. And they'll be the same way with someone else, and someone else will be the same way about you and it goes on and on--this desperate need--and only once in a rare million do the same two people need each other.

It was the same way with silence. This was more than silence. A deaf person can feel vibrations. Here there was nothing to feel.

If thou could'st empty all thyself of self Like to a shell dishabited Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf And say This is not dead and fill thee with Himself instead. But thou art all replete with very thou And hast such shrewd activity That when He comes He says This is enow Unto itself - 'twere better let it be It is so small and full there is no room for me.

There're a lot of things you don't understand. Zachary smoldered his gaze at me. I came looking for you, and then when I found out where you were, suddenly it didn't seem worth it. It wasn't you. It was everything and nothing. Life. Ma's death. Talking to anybody. Not worth it

Perhaps it is becoming clearer why I felt no romance when you told me that you carried my last letter with you, everywhere you went, for months on end, unopened. This may have served some purpose for you, but whatever it was, surely it bore little resemblance to mine. I never aimed to give you a talisman, an empty vessel to flood with whatever longing, dread, or sorrow happened to be the day's mood. I wrote it because I had something to say to you.

Partings are strange. It seems so simple: one minute ago, four, five, he was here, at her side; now, he is gone. She was with him; she is alone. She feels exposed, chill, peeled like an onion.

Everywhere was the atmosphere of a long debauch that had to end; the orchestras played too fast, the stakes were too high at the gambling tables, the players were so empty, so tired, secretly hoping to vanish together into sleep and ... maybe wake on a very distant morning and hear nothing, whatever, no shouting or crooning, find all things changed.

He felt rather like someone lying in a bath after all the water has run out, witless, almost dead.

Why am I here, says the silence, what have I done, echoes the emptiness, why have I ruined myself in this wilful manner, chuckles the money in the till, why have I been brought so low, wheedles the thoroughfare, to which the only answer was—The square gave him no answer.

A bull market is very much like being in love. You don't realise its value till it's gone.