Quotes About Emptiness

Aside from recurrance, revision, and commensurate symbolic reference, echoes also reveal emptiness. Since objects always impede acoustic reflection, only empty places can create echoes of lasting clarity.

How do we remember this emptiness so in fullness we won't forget?' Asked once, when emptiness was the worst. Why ever [would] he want to remember that?

He is a stem, a husk, barren and thin, withered by sun, erased by wind, emptied by seasons of dullness, marked by seconds of duty, scarred by regret only the faintest of lines dare to write out, which no one, not even him, can interpret anymore. People have told him a crow will reveal more than anything his face has to share.

Very soon he will vanish completely in the wings of his own wordless stanza.

Les murs sont infiniment nus. Rien n'y est suspendu, rien de les définit. Ils sont dépourvus de texture. Même à l'œil le plus aguerri ou aux doigts les plus sensibles, ils demeurent illisibles. Vous ne trouverez jamais ici la moindre marque. Aucune trace ne survit. Les murs effacent tout. Ils sont en permanence lavés de toute trace. Obliques, à jamais obscurs et vierges. On a là le parfait panthéon de l'absence.

Kept for that moment when I'm certain nothing's left.

Lude would never feel how 'empty hallways long past midnight' could slice inside of you, though I'm not so sure he wasn't sliced up just the same. Not seeing the rip doesn't mean you automatically get to keep clear of the Hey-I'm-Bleeding part.

Looking everywhere, even though there's absolutely nothing, nothing anywhere.

In both cases, unfulfilled love results in the total negation of Echo's body and the near negation of her voice.

Unfortunately nothing happened with the girls. They just ran off giggling into the night. No digits, no dates, not even their names, leaving me feeling dumb and sad, a bit like a broken thermos- fine on the outside, but on the inside nothing but busted glass.

His eyes remain fixed on a horizon that is both empty and meaningless.

with very little to remind them of themselves or their past or even their tomorrows . . .

If Sorrow is deep regret over someone loved , there is nothing but regret here

I'd thrown everyone's number out. Nothing could be done. I was gone from everyone.

There were people everywhere on the city street, but the stranger could not have been more alone if it were empty.

Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.

Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting.

He was a wasteland in a suit; he was bent-postured, he was broken.

Don't make me happy. Please, don't fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this. Look at my bruises. Look at this graze. Do you see this graze inside me? Do you see it before your very eyes, eroding me? I don't want to hope for anything more.

They're brainless girls, otherwise they wouldn't be seen dead here. They're pretty, with ugly, appealing smiles and conversations we can't hear. They breathe smoke and blow it out, and words drop from their mouths and get crushed to the floor. Or they get discarded, just to glow with warmth for a moment, for someone else to tread on later.

Don't think, I told myself. Think nothingness. But even nothingness was something. It was a thought.

Silence was not quiet or calm, and it was not peace.

Papa was an accordion. But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.

I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprise. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs.