Quotes About Emptiness

Most people's lives—what are they but trails of debris, each day more debris, more debris, long, long trails of debris with nothing to clean it all up but, finally, death.

A bird gives a cry–the mountains quiet all the more.' 49 (This is also perhaps the real meaning behind Hakuin Ekaku's famous eighteenth-century-BCE koan 'What is the Sound of the Single Hand?': it is an invitation to attend to the silence, the emptiness.

You have always been alone, always self-centered and fearful of opening yourself to other persons, for to do so is to risk rejection and pain. But it is a risk we are born to take, we humans. We cannot live alone, cannot find happiness or peace alone, cannot love alone. The person alone must always be fleeing, always searching. He flees from the loneliness without end. He searches, whether he will or not, for another who will fill his emptiness.

It's a great excuse and luxury, having a job and blaming it for your inability to do your own art. When you don't have to work, you are left with the horror of facing your own lack of imagination and your own emptiness. A devastating possibility when finally time is your own.

But she's still afraid that the more she misses him--his face, his skin, the way he looked at her--and the more hope she has that she'll see him again, the more she has to lose.

November came roaring in with gusty winds and more wet weather. Mandy's depression would not go away. Her garden seemed sad, too. It was virtually empty now, and the few brave flowers that remained there were flattened by rain, their yellows stalks sprawling in all directions. Most of the trees were bare, and the woods had a wet carpet of leaves.

At times like this, I'm thankful I don't feel love.

Sometimes I felt as if there were no tomorrows, that everything, my whole life, was crammed into one long day. A continuous stretch of meaningless time. Sometimes I even wished there was no tomorrow, if this was all I had to look forward to.

My room is cleared. My head is cleared. Earlier, around dawn, I took out the last load of trash. I look around and see what's left. Nothing. There is no more Daelyn Rice. As I was. As I am. Or will become. I'm a blank slate

We lost weight and grew thin. We stopped bleeding. We stopped dreaming. We stopped wanting.

We forgot about Buddha. We forgot about God. We developed a coldness inside us that still has not thawed. I fear my soul has died. We stopped writing home to our mothers. We lost weight and grew thin. We stopped bleeding. We stopped dreaming. We stopped wanting.?

You said I was all you'd ever need Love is blind and little did I know That you were just another dead-end road Paved with pretty lies and broken dreams

La verité est triste, comme vous le savez. Elle déçoit parce qu'elle restreint. Elle tient dans un poing fermé, puis dans le geste d'une main qui se délace et rejette. Elle est pauvre, elle démeuble et démunit.

When the house is blown up, there's nothing to shut or open.

Perhaps this is what the stories meant when they called somebody heartsick. Your heart and your stomach and your whole insides felt hollow and empty and aching.

All that he had of her was his memory, where he held every moment, every single moment that she had been his. That was all he had, to keep out the loneliness.

This is a long goodbye, yet not time enough. I have no aptitude for this. I cannot learn this. I would hold on, and hold on, until my hands clutch at emptiness.

Oh mi amor, te extraño, me dolés en la piel, en la garganta, cada vez que respiro es como si el vacío me entrara en el pecho donde ya no estás

En el fondo la Maga tiene una vida personal, aunque me haya llevado tiempo darme cuenta. En cambio yo estoy vacío, una libertad enorme para soñar y andar por ahí, todos los juguetes rotos, ningún problema.

En el pan es de día -murmura Johnny, tapándose la cara-. Y yo me atrevo a tocarlo, a cortarlo en dos, a metérmelo en la boca. No pasa nada, ya se: eso es lo terrible. Te das cuenta de que es terrible que no pase nada? Cortas el pan, le clavas el cuchillo, y todo sigue como antes. Yo no comprendo, Bruno.

vienen como todo el resto, se pegan a la vida por un momento y después hay como una ansiedad rencorosa, huecos volcándose para mostrar jirones que se enganchan en cualquier otra cosa...

Porque en ese vacio vertiginoso las metaforas saltaban hacia el como arañas

Hago cosas que me quitan un poco el mal gusto del vacío. Y esa en el fondo es la mejor definición de homo sapiens." No es una definición sino un consuelo, dijo Gregorovius suspirando

un amor que podía prescindir de su objeto, que en la nada encontraba su alimento, se sumaba quizá a otras fuerzas