Quotes About Presence

The world seemed to me fine because you were in it, and goodness more real because you lived.

Rather he consoled himself with the fact that, in the real world, when he looked closely into the darkness he might find the presence of a light, damaged and bruised, but a little light all the same. He wanted, quite simply, for the world to be a better place, and he was in the habit of hoping for it. Out of that came some sort of triumph that went beyond theological proof, a cause for

Being with you, and not being with you, is the only way I have to measure time. ~ BORGES ~

Perhaps she could use the sounds, punctuate them with some of the other birdsong she had taped, but the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that sound was something to leave alone, that it was not the bulldozers nor the olive trees nor the buzzing strobe lights that needed attention, but the quietness itself.

That's what I like about God. You get to know Him by His occasional absence.

And remember, no matter where you go, there you are.

Io suuicien lui damo amo, she said softly. You are here in place of the friends I love.

io sui ici en liu dami amo' ('I am here in place of a friend love')

not come to feel his own goodness, worth and lovableness because those significant persons in his life were not present to him with the full attention of their whole being.

People were always getting ready for tomorrow. I didnt believe in that. Tomorrow wasnt getting ready for them. It didnt even know they were there.

Maybe it's not logical. I don't know. I don't care. I've been asked didnt I think it odd that I should be present to witness the death of everything and I do think it's odd but that doesnt mean it's not so. Someone has to be here.

Acts have their being in the witness. Without him who can speak of it? In the end one could even say that the act is nothing, the witness all.

There was someone there and they had been there. There was no one there. There was someone there and they had been there and they had not left but there was no one there.

They had no curiousity about him at all. As if they knew all that they needed to know. They stood and watched him pass and watched him vanish upon that landscape solely because he was passing. Solely because he would vanish.

He could see the truck in the moonlight at the top of the rise. He looked off to one side of it to see it the better. There was someone standing beside it. Then they were gone. There is no description of a fool, he said, that you fail to satisfy. Now you're goin to die.

If I'm not here you can still talk to me. You can talk to me and I'll talk to you. You'll see.

Life is being in bed with you. Everything else is just waiting.

God speaks in the least of creatures.

Who can dream of God? This man did. In his dreams God was much occupied. Spoken to He did not answer. Called to did not hear. The man could see Him bent at his work. As if through a glass. Seated solely in the light of his own presence. Weaving the world. In his hands it flowed out of nothing and in his hands it vanished into nothing once again. Endlessly.

Who can dream of God? This man did. In his dreams God was much occupied. Spoken to He did not answer. Called to did not hear. The man could see Him bent at his work. As if through a glass. Seated solely in the light of his own presence. Weaving the world. In his hands it flowed out of nothing and in his hands it vanished into nothing once again. Endlessly. Endlessly.

Nor does God whisper through the trees. His voice is not to be mistaken. When men hear it they fall to their knees and their souls are riven and they cry out to Him and there is no fear in them but only that wildness of heart that springs from such longing and they cry out to stay his presence for they know at once that while godless men may live well enough in their exile those to whom He has spoken can contemplate no life without Him but only darkness and despair. Trees

Yeah. He aint here to say though, is he? I dont know. Someways I think he'll always have a say.

Such a man is like a dreamer who wakes from a dream of grief to a greater sorrow yet. All that he loves is now become a torment to him. The pin has been pulled from the axis of the universe. Whatever one takes one's eye from threatens to flee away. Such a man is lost to us. He moves and speaks. But he is himself less than the merest shadow among all that he beholds. There is no picture of him possible. The smallest mark upon the page exaggerates his presence

Quién está? he said, but no one spoke back. There was someone there and they had been there. There was no one there. There was someone there and they had been there and they had not left but there was no one there.