Best 642 quotes in «existentialism quotes» category

perempuan belajar membenci dengan cara yang sama saat mereka--belajar melupakan cara memperdaya

perempuan dianggap dalam. kenapa? karena orang tidak akan menemukan dasar pada mereka. perempuan bahkan tidak dangkal

Perhaps it was because a terrible anguish had developed within my soul, occasioned by a circumstance which loomed infinitely larger than my own self: to be precise, it was the dawning conviction that in the world at large, nothing mattered. I had had a presentiment of this for a good long time, but complete conviction came swiftly during this last year. All of a sudden, I realized that it would not matter to me whether the world existed or whether there was nothing at all anywhere. I began to intuit and sense with all my being, that there was nothing around me.

Perhaps Lila was right: my book—even though it was having so much success—really was bad, and this was because it was well organized, because it was written with obsessive care, because I hadn’t been able to imitate the disjointed, unaesthetic, illogical, shapeless banality of things.

Perhaps the Creator of this strange place knows us better than we know ourselves. Perhaps humanity was meant to eternally ponder the purpose and importance of our own existence. If we were assured of either, we’d be intolerable creatures.

Personne ne semble avoir songé au fait que si l'existence est absurde, y réussir brillamment n'a pas plus de valeur qu'y échouer.

Peter Koestenbaum also elaborated on the importance of others, particularly romantic lovers, in the existential context. Love is the choice to create and reflect each other mutually, verifying and illuminating each other's uniqueness because this is how we learn that we exist and who we are. A key theme of authentic love is resistance between, but welcoming of, two independent consciousness acting like positive and negative magnets within a single magnetic field.

Poetry is death and death is poetry.

Polarities of the 'authentic' vs. the 'inauthentic' are easily discernible in recreational modes. The criteria of authenticity are not necessarily objective but rather have to do with the rules by which the self allows or disallows its own experience.

Poor feeling hijacks thinking for self-deception: to hide harsh truths, avoid action, evade responsibility, and, as the existentialists might put it, flee from freedom. Thus, poor feeling is a kind of moral failing, indeed, the deepest kind, and virtue principally consists in correcting and refining our emotions and the values that they reflect. To feel the right thing is to do the right thing, without any particular need for conscious thought or effort.

Positive disintegration is the sublimation of suffering

Positivist man is a curious creature who dwells in the tiny island of light composed of what he finds scientifically "meaningful," while the whole surrounding area in which ordinary men live from day to day and have their dealings with other men is consigned to the outer darkness of the "meaningless." Positivism has simply accepted the fractured being of modern man and erected a philosophy to intensify it. Existentialism, whether successfully or not, has attempted instead to gather all the elements of human reality into a total picture of man. Positivist man and Existentialist man are no doubt offspring of the same parent epoch, but, somewhat as Cain and Abel were, the brothers are divided unalterably by temperament and the initial choice they make of their own being.

Praise to be the stars that implode. A new freedom opens up within them: annulled from space, exonerated from time, existing at last, for themselves alone and no longer in relation to all the rest, perhaps only they can be sure they really exist.

Pretty soon there'll be a new kind of murderer, who will kill without any reason at all, just to prove that it doesn't matter, and his accomplishment will be worth no more and no less than Beethoven's last quartets and Boito's Requiem-- churches will fall, Mongolian hordes will piss on the map of the West, idiot kings will burp at bones, nobody'll care and then the earth itself'll disintegrate into atomic dust (as it was in the beginning) and the void still the void won't care, the void'll just go on with that maddening little smile of its that I see everywhere, I look at a tree, a rock, a house, a street, I see that little smile-- That 'secret God-grin' but what a God is this who didn't invent justice?--So they'll light candles and make speeches and the angels rage. Ah but 'I don't know, I don't care, and it doesn't matter' will be the final human prayer.

Progress means progress of all humans from all walks of life, not just the progress in science, progress in technology or progress in philosophy.

provou que (o prazer) é um presente da divindade, 'pois - dizia - o homem não pode dar a si próprio nem sensações nem ideias, recebe tudo; a dor e o prazer lhe vêm de fora, como sua existência'.

Pure logic is the impossibility by means of which science is maintained.

Quand l'immanence surplombant sur nous, ciel, gouffre, vie, tombeau, éternité, apparaît patente, c'est alors que nous sentons tout inaccessible, tout défendu, tout muré. Quand l'infini s'ouvre, pas de fermeture plus formidable.

Really, existentialism is a plural term. It just doesn't have an "s" on the end

Religion was a lie that he had recognized early in life, and he found all religions offensive, considered their superstitious, folderol, meaningless, childish, couldn't stand the complete unadultness, the baby talk and the righteousness and the sheep, the avid believers. No hocus-pocus about death and God or obsolete fantasies of heaven for him. There was only our bodies, born to live and die on terms decided by the bodies that had lived and died before us.

Regarding our dealings with other people: Expect nothing, receive everything.

Reality took forever — the underwater way people walked and sent their voices wobbling through the air, how printed words lay inert like bugsplat, all manifesting the basic DUH of the physical plane. By the time he decided to go anywhere he wondered why he wasn't there already. As soon as he sent an email he felt he should already have the reply. And learning any fact, he was annoyed not to have known it already, because whenever anything happened, the conversation around it had already trended and backlashed and been reexamined and swallowed and shat and reswallowed and reshat in a thousand places online, until all thinking felt redundant. We needed brain-to-brain; only then would we catch up to real time. Right now everything progressed so slowly that by the time we arrived at the future it was the present again.

Remember!" she called, as she followed him up the narrow ladders towards the bridge. "It is only a matter of scale and experience. You are not a fraction of the whole. You are a version of the whole! Time will seem to eddy and stall. This is scale. Everything is sentient, but scale alters perception. The time of a tree is not your time." It was as if she shouted to him all she had meant to teach him before this moment. "To the snail the foot which comes from nowhere and crushes him is as natural a disaster as a hurricane; it cannot be appealed to and is impossible to anticipate. The time of a star is not our time. Equity is the natural condition of the multiverse. There are things to fear in the colour fields, but not the fields themselves! Remember, Sam, we are God in miniature!

Remember you are never really alone. Although it may feel like it for very long stretches of time.

Rien, rien n'avait d'importance et je savais bien pourquoi.

Resistance is dauntless audacity of the lesser against the greater through a will to suffering—the essential quality of existing—because suffering most clearly evinces the will-power of the sufferer. History is the story of ‘I’ as observed and evaluated by ‘me.’ When the history is written by my hands, I will fear nothing and live as if I am the history.

saat cinta ataupun kebencia tidak berperan, tindaka perempuan akan biasabiasa saja

Sartre turns love into a ‘battle between two hypnotists in a closed room’.

Sans doute, rien n’est plus naturel, aujourd’hui, que de voir des gens travailler du matin au soir et choisir ensuite de perdre aux cartes, au café, et en bavardages, le temps qui leur reste pour vivre.

Sartre, expanding on Descartes, wrote that the reason we know others exist is because when they look at us, we feel looked at. He called the entity that was staring back at us the Other.

Sardines or not sardines, that is the question.

Saving and pinching to get married, you're losing the best time of your life.

Say not: I live today, I shall die tomorrow. Divide not reality between life and death. Say: now I live and die.

Salvation is no supernatural or extraterrestrial phenomenon, though, throughout history it is seen mostly as something supernatural and mystical. Salvation simply means to be not bounded by the chains of primitiveness. Salvation means to see no human as the "other" person, but simply as a reflection oneself.

seseorang yag merasa dirinya ditakdirkan untuk megamati dan bukan meyakini akan menemukan bahwa semua penganut terlalu cerewet dan suka mendesak: dia akan menolak mereka

sesuai dengan diri kita, kita semua purapura lebih sederhana dari yang sebenarnya: inilah cara dimana kita dapat bersantai dari orang lain

Semua perempuan yang baik menemukan bahwa ilmu pengetahuan adalah bertentangan dengan kesopanan mereka. Ia membuat mereka merasa seakanakan ada orang yang ingin melihat dibalik kulit mereka--atau yang lebih parah! Dibalik pakaian dan kosmetik mereka...

Será verdade que sou um salafrário? A poltrona é verde, a corda parece uma alça, isso é indiscutível. Mas em relação às pessoas pode-se sempre discutir, tudo o que fazem pode ser explicado, por cima ou por baixo, como se queira. Recusei porque quero permanecer livre. É o que posso dizer. Mas posso dizer também: tive medo, prefiro minhas cortinas verdes, prefiro tomar ar à tare no meu balcão, e não desejaria que isso mudasse. Agrada-me indignar-me contra o capitalismo, mas não desejo que o suprimam, porque não teria mais motivos de indignação. Agrada-me sentir-me desdenhoso e solitário, agrada-me dizer 'não', sempre 'não', e teria medo que se tentasse construir para valer um mundo vivível porque teria que dizer 'sim' e fazer como os outros.Por cima ou por baixo: quem julgaria?

She is the light, at the end of this endless tunnel.

She wants to have her notebooks so that the flimsy framework of events, as she has constructed them in her school notebook, will be provided with walls and become a house she can live in. Because if the tottering structure of her memories collapses like a clumsily pitched tent, all that Tamina will be left with is the present, that invisible point, that nothingness moving slowly toward death.

She must have been pretty once. At least, like everyone, she had been young. Now her eyes, her mouth, her whole body exuded weakness. Could it be that she was ill and waiting for her next attack? Some people who know that at a particular hour they are going to start suffering again have that expression, subdued and yet tense, like drug addicts waiting for the hour of their dose.

She was like a landscape you see from the train, and you want to stop just there.

She wasn’t broken. She was made up of a thousand tiny little cracks. She was always trying to keep herself glued together. But it was hard, she felt too much. No matter what she did, her emotions seeped through, sometimes in drips, other times in floods, She felt everything, the heaviness of the clouds right before rain, the rush of the subway cars as they left the station, the feeling of goodbye as she watched someone walk away, wondering if it was the last time she would see them, the feeling of a kiss lingering on her cheek for hours. She felt the loneliness of the sun as it hung in the sky, shedding light on the day, without companion. And she longed to give as much as the sun. If she could brighten someone’s day, bestow warmth were there was cold, make someone smile, give someone hope, then for a minute, an hour, maybe even a day, the cracks would fill with love and the pain would become only a voice, reminding her that her pain was important. She knew how fragile life was, how hard, and how precious. She wanted to feel it all.

Slobodan sam: više mi ne ostaje nijedan razlog da živim; svi oni, koje sam prokušao, propali su, a ja ne mogu više zamisliti neke nove. Još sam dosta mlad, imam još dostatno sila da ponovo počnem. Ali što treba ponovo početi?

Şimdi'nin gerçek özü kendini açığa vuruyordu. Şimdi var olandı, şimdi olmayan hiçbir şey varoluşmuyordu. Geçmiş var olan bir şey değildi. Hem de hiç değildi. Ne eşyada hatta ne de düşüncemde varoluşuyordu. Kendi geçmişimin benden kaçmış olduğunu çoktan beri anlamıştım... İşi biten her olay, kendi kendine bir kutunun içine usulca giriyor ve fahri olay niteliğini alıyordu. Hiçliği düşünmek bu kadar zordu işte. Ama şimdi anladım, eşyanın, görünüşünü aşan bir varlığı yok. Onların ardında... hiçbir şey yok.

Sky is not a limit for me; because I have no limit for myself in life. Because life is a world full of risk taking and possibilities. No matter how hard or easy life is; I will always find a way to enjoy myself; even in the mist of circumstances; because problems is a sense of adventure in sheep's clothing.

Sleepless nights Spent looking at the ceiling Searching in those etched patterns For some sort of adhesive To glue together the broken pieces Of a soul crushed By the weight of the fact that Life is profoundly sad.

Solitude removes us from the mindless humdrum of everyday life into a higher consciousness which reconnects us with ourselves and our deepest humanity, and also with the natural world, which quickens into our muse and companion. By setting aside dependent emotions and constraining compromises, we free ourselves up for problem solving, creativity, and spirituality. If we can embrace it, this opportunity to adjust and refine our perspectives creates the strength and security for still greater solitude and, in time, the substance and meaning that guards against loneliness.

So I stayed with the old priest who was my teacher, but lots of unanswered questions always came up. Then I thought, “Why don’t you teach me anything?” But my teacher didn’t care. He just lived. He just let me be alive every day.

So maybe it’s not sad that Gran lives alone. Maybe it’s a choice. “But what if it never rains again here?” I ask her. She makes a quick face—like a face she might make if I were blowing that whistle right in her ear. Then she says, “I guess I’ll have to take that question one day at a time.