Quotes About Emptiness

He was studying his grandmother, as if he was hungry too, but for something not food, hungry in a way that food could never fill.

The No filled the whole air of the house. Every time she breathed in she breathed in that No.

it was all nothing, a wonderful display of nothingness. At the same time a display. A display! a display! a display!

She, herself, was so forlorn and unused, not a female at all, just a mere thing of terrors.

There was nothing now but this empty treadmill of what Clifford called the integrated life, the long living together of two people, who are in the habit of being in the same house with one another. Nothingness! To accept the great nothingness of life seemed to be the one end of living. All the many busy and important little things that make up the grand sum-total of nothingness!

As the years drew on it was the fear of nothingness in her life that affected her.

And he could go on in life, existing from day to day, without connection and without hope. For he did not know what to do with himself.

Vaguely she knew herself that she was going to pieces in some way. Vaguely she knew she was out of connection: she had lost touch with the substantial and vital world. Only Clifford and his books, which did not exist... which had nothing in them. Void to void. Vaguely she knew. But it was like beating her head against a stone.

Te iubesc foarte mult.. dar undeva, lipseÈ™te ceva. - Unde? întreb? ea privindu-l. -O, în?untru, în mine. Eu ar trebui s? m? ruÈ™inez.. sunt un olog psihic.

Nothingness! To accept the great nothingness of life seemed to be the one end of living. All the many busy and important little things that make up the grand sum-total of nothingness!

He felt a sort of emptiness, almost like a vacuum in his soul. He was unsettled and restless.

She felt different from the rest of them, with their hard, easy, shallow intimacy, that seemed to cost them so little.

And then, he was not there. A terrible storm came over her, as if she were drowning. She was possessed by a devastating hopelessness. And she approached mechanically to the altar. Never had she known such a pang of utter and final hopelessness. It was beyond death, so utterly null, desert.

Then there are the sort that are just dead inside. Dead. And they know it.

Yet still in his face one saw the watchful look, the slight vacancy of a cripple. He had so very nearly lost his life, that what remained was wonderfully precious to him. It was obvious in the anxious brightness of his eyes, how proud he was, after the great shock, of being alive. But he had been so much hurt that something inside him had perished, some of his feelings had gone. There was a blank of insentience.

Qué es en definitiva esta Clara Luz? Cualquier cosa que se diga no es más que el dedo que señala la luna. Por ello, el silencio de Bunko parece ser la respuesta más acertada, la que mejor refleja la vacuidad de la Clara Luz, la ausencia de sustancia, la ausencia de luz de la Clara Luz.

Zazen doesn't give you something—it's the complete opposite!

Only in the chamber of death writhed the world's most piteous thing—a childless mother.

There is no pain on this earth like seeing the same woman look at another man the way she once looked at you.

Nowadays when a person lives somewhere, in a neighborhood, the place is not certified for him. More than likely he will live there sadly and the emptiness which is inside him will expand until it evacuates the entire neighborhood. But if he sees a movie which shows his very neighborhood, it becomes possible for him to live, for a time at least, as a person who is Somewhere and not Anywhere.

This Midwestern sky is the nakedest loneliest sky in America. To escape it, people live inside and underground.

But if the saleslady means what she says—and since you have gone through any number of such styles in the past— then it must follow that the other articles in the past were also you and are no longer. How can that be? It could only be because some sort of consumption takes place. The nought which is you has devoured the style and been sustained for a while as a non-you until the style is emptied out by the noughting self.

If no one is home, then someone is missing. So you grieve.

Your twin brother is, as you said, an abandoned house. If no one is home, then someone is missing. So you grieve.