Best 1828 quotes in «existence quotes» category

The universe requires balance. Nothing, nothing, can exist without it. There is no life, no light, without death, without darkness. There is no memory… without emptiness.

The unshakable truth of existence: while some are happy while trapped, others weep for being free. However, holding on to inner freedom is better than being free in outer prison.

The universe only exist within us. All of what is outside of us is also within us.

The urge is irresistible to ask, are we an essential part of the plan and architecture of the universe? Is there a purpose to the universe? Of course one can immediately counter such questions by asking what one means by 'essential part' and 'purpose'. Perhaps such questions are improperly posed and should not be asked, but it cannot be denied that these questions arise in the mind.

The universe was a cosmos, not a chaos; man was as rightfully a part of that cosmos as were the day and night.

The way he’s watching me makes me feel needed like no one’s ever been able to make me feel. In a way, he makes me feel necessary. Like my existence alone is necessary for his survival.

The West Indian is not exactly hostile to change, but he is not much inclined to believe in it. This comes from a piece of wisdom that his climate of eternal summer teaches him. It is that, under all the parade of human effort and noise, today is like yesterday, and tomorrow will be like today; that existence is a wheel of recurring patterns from which no one escapes; that all anybody does in this life is live for a while and then die for good, without finding out much; and that therefore the idea is to take things easy and enjoy the passing time under the sun. The white people charging hopefully around the islands these days in the noon glare, making deals, bulldozing airstrips, hammering up hotels, laying out marinas, opening new banks, night clubs, and gift shops, are to him merely a passing plague. They have come before and gone before.

The whole process of life is a process of deterioration in which everything—and this is the most cruel law—continually gets worse.

The whole duty of our existence is fear God.

The world, as you see it, is not real. And the way you imagine it—it does not even come close. Certain things seem obvious to you, but they simply do not exist.” “And you, do you not exist?” Sasha couldn’t help herself. “Are you not real?” Portnov removed the scarf from her face. Under his gaze, she blinked confusedly. “I exist,” he said seriously. “But I am not at all what you think.

The World and Life are one.

The world around me is dissolving leaving here and there spots of time. The world is a cancer eating itself away.

The world exists because your mind exists. If your mind didn’t exist, there would be no world. As you look at these words, you see them in what appears to be a reality outside of you. What you are really seeing is the image that your mind is creating from the electrical signals being sent to your brain. While they may appear to be outside of you, this is an illusion, they exist within your own mind, and are being projected to appear as if they are outside of you. This apparent reality that is projected by our minds, is maya, and to believe that maya is the ultimate reality is a result of ignorance, or avidya in Sanskrit.

The work of existence devours its own unfolding. What dissolves will dissolve-- you, reader, and I, and all our quick angers and longings.

The world as it exists neither has nor lacks a meaning. It simply is.

The world is awash with colours unseen and abuzz with unheard frequencies. Undetected and disregarded. The wise have always known that these inaccessible realms, these dimensions that cannot be breached by our beautifully blunt senses, hold the very codes to our existence, the invisible, electromagnetic foundations upon which our gross reality clumsily rests.

The world has its own ways of treating us like what we will never be, but want to be. It relinquishes its grip on our souls while lulling us with the songs of freedom and conquest of beauty. It magnifies every tiny bit of something useless over an unfathomable presence of humanity. And we all waste the whole of our lives standing in queue for gaining its attention to be abdicated as if we never existed in the eyes of our fellow men.

The world has provided us with a miraculous environment for our existence; the only way to repay our debt is to make a great contribution to the world's existence!

The world’s existence is with common intent. No one has ownership of it. One may do whatever suits him. You cannot criticize him; you cannot say, ‘This is wrong’. You cannot even think it. Everything is under nature’s management.

The worse scenario is when you do not know the purpose of your day to day existence

They had nothing in common except for existing in the same time and space

They say I don’t exist. They say I am an extension, an indulgence, imagination of a schizophrenic person.

They say (she had read somewhere) that no one ever disappears, up in the atmosphere, stratosphere, whatever you call space--atoms infinitely minute, beyond conception of existence, are up there forever, from the whole world, from all time.

They were the flash of light in a stormy sky, the fleeting darkness before dawn. Never have they existed before, nor shall they ever exist again.

They say "the taste of the pudding is in the eating," but that doesn't apply to "a square peg in a round hole". If the peg is driven by hunger to give and desire to fill, and the hole on the other hand is moved by thirst to receive and purpose to fulfil, then a deep knowledge of the reason for existence, a mutual understanding of roles, and the wisdom to effectively carry out those roles are very key, if we must have a round peg in a round hole, or a square peg in a square hole. But then again, who cares about "shape" in desperation?!

Things don’t have significance: they only have existence. Things are the only hidden meaning of things.

This instant which I cannot leave, which locks me in and limits me on every side, this instant I am made of will be no more than a confused dream.

This evening, which I have tried to spirit away, is a strange burden to me. While time moves on, while the day will soon end and I already wish it gone, there are men who have entrusted all their hopes to it, all their love and their last efforts. There are dying men or others who are waiting for a debt to come due, who wish that tomorrow would never come. There are others for whom the day will break like a pang of remorse; and others who are tired, for whom the night will never be long enough to give them the rest that they need. And I - who have lost my day - what right do I have to wish that tomorrow comes?

This is an ode to life. The anthem of the world. For as there are billions of different stars that make up the sky so, too, are there billions of different humans that make up the Earth. Some shine brighter but all are made of the same cosmic dust. O the joy of being in life with all these people! I speak of differences because they are there. Like the different organs that make up our bodies. Earth, itself, is one large body. Listen to how it howls when one human is in misery. When one kills another, the Earth feels the pang in its chest. When one orgasms, the Earth craves a cigarette. Look carefully, these animals are beauty spots that make the Earth’s face lovelier and more loveable. These oceans are the Earth’s limpid eyes. These trees, its hair. This is an ode to life. The anthem of the world. I will no longer speak of differences, for the similarities are larger. Look even closer. There may be distances between our limbs but there are no spaces between our hearts. We long to be one. We long to be in nature and to run wild with its wildlife. Let us celebrate life and living, for it is sacrilegious to be ungrateful. Let us play and be playful, for it is sacrilegious to be serious. Let us celebrate imperfections and make existence proud of us, for tomorrow is death, and this is an ode to life. The anthem of the world.

This is not a universe that is advancing toward a goal; it is one that is caught in the grip of an unbreakable pattern.

This is God's universe and he is the master gardener of all. If we were to eliminate all colors in his garden, then what would be a rainbow with only one color? Or a garden with only one kind of flower? Why would the Creator create a vast assortment of plants, ethnicities, and animals, if only one beast or seed is to dominate all of existence?

This is not to say that joy is a compensation for loss, but that each of them, joy and loss, exists in its own right and must be recognized for what it is. Sorrow is very real, and loss feels very final to us. Life on earth is difficult and grave, and marvelous. Our experience is fragmentary. Its parts don't add up. They don't even belong in the same calculation. Sometimes it is hard to believe they are all parts of one thing. Nothing makes sense until we understand that experience does not accumulate like money, or memory, or like years and frailties. Instead, it is is presented to us by a God who is not under any obligation to the past except in His eternal, freely given constancy.

This storm we are in concerns me greatly. Even in the midst of the storm I know the Son shines from behind the clouds and will eventually break through completely. There is hope. Let's impact this change together.

This, then, is the beast that has never actually been: not having seen one, they prized in any case its perfect poise, its throat, the straightforward gaze it gave them back—so straightforward, so serene. Since it had never been, it was all the more unsullied. And they allowed it such latitude that, in a clearing in the wood, it raised its head as if its essence shrugged off mere existence. They brought it on, not with oats or corn, but with the chance, however slight, that it would come on its own. This gave it such strength that from its brow there sprang a horn. A single horn. Only when it met a maiden’s white with white Would it be bodied out in her, in her mirror’s full length.

This witnessing consciousness, this formless dimension of yourself, is the awareness in which your experience happens, yet it remains untouched by this experience at all times. It is similar to the background of white on which you are reading these words. This white background allows any and every word to exist within it, yet it is not confined to any of these words. Similarly, your awareness allows any and every form to exist within it, but it is not bound to any of these forms.

Those that can be troubled to muse upon the meaning of life are generally disappointed when they figure it out.

This cause, therefore, of all existing things cannot be any one of them.

This is the world, he thought. And I am in it.

this ones who think of others and those who think of themselves, the unmistakable truth that these two cannot coexist!

This then was love, to look and look until one exists no more, this was the love which was the same as death.

This world owes us nothing. Existence is not indebted to us. Humanity lives under this misconception that we deserve life’s blessings, that we deserve happiness. But in truth, life owes us nothing

Thoughts are powerful; before you were born, you were one.

Time has no mind, existence has no body, reality has no heart, and eternity has no soul.

Time has the world in its hands, eternity has the universe at its feet.

Time existed before creation.

Time is your acquaintance, life is your friend, death is your enemy, and existence is your soulmate.

Time passes. I drift in and out. As if I cease to be, until I remember to exist again.

To be a great achiever, you must first discover your main purpose of existing through feasible communication mode with your maker, the source of your destiny. This brings you a conviction to work with.

To be ignorant of the future is a condition of mortal existence, with which one can make terms. To be ignorant of the present, where it concerns the life of those one loves, is an additional burden almost beyond endurance.

To breathe, to breathe is nothing more than confirmation of the existence of your soul whether you believe it or not, whether you live or cease to fight