Best 642 quotes in «existentialism quotes» category

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    Games are never over because you think them so! Which is why I like you. Are you doing what you want to do...or are you simply another piece of a darkened puzzle? Your own actions predetermined by powers higher than yourself?

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    Given enough time everything becomes insignificant.

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    God, it’s so stupid the way I see my life, see all my existence as if there’s some magic out there waiting just for me.

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    God desires that man should be. God does not wish to be alone. The meaning of existence is the conquest of loneliness, the acquisition of kinship and nearness.

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    God has not yet revealed himself to no one in no unclear terms. Religions are attempts to find him; on that level they are all equal

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    God! when you think of all the things you could do and yet somehow never do! All the opportunities you let slip by! The idea, the inspiration just doesn't come fast enough. Instead of being open, you're closed up tight. Thats's the worst sin of all - the sin of omission.

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    Good is god and discrimination is demon.

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    Gövde, bir kere yaşamaya başlayınca, bu işe kendi kendine devam eder. Ama düşünce öyle değil. Düşünceyi ben sürdürür, ben geliştiririm. Varoluşmaktayım. Varoluşmakta olduğumu düşünüyorum. Şu varoluşma duygusu ne kıvıl kıvıl bir şey! Onu ben sürdürüyorum yavaşça. Düşünmemi durdurabilseydim... Çabalıyorum buna, başarıyorum. Kafamın içi dumanla doluyor gibi... ama işte yeniden başladı. "Duman... düşünmemek... Düşünmemek istemiyorum. Düşünmek istemediğimi düşünüyorum. Düşünmek istemediğimi düşünmemem gerek." Bitmek bilmeyecek mi bu?

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    Hacerse dios es solamente ser libre en esta tierra, no servir a un ser inmortal. Es, sobre todo, por supuesto, sacar todas las consecuencia de esa independencia dolorosa. Si Dios existe, todo depende de él y nosotros nada podemos contra su voluntad. Si no existe, todo depende de nosotros. Para Kirilov, lo mismo que para Nietzsche, matar a Dios es hacerse dios uno mismo, es realizar en esta tierra la vida eterna de que habla el Evangelio.

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    HAMM: Scoundrel! Why did you engender me? NAGG: I didn't know. HAMM: What? What didn't you know? NAGG: That it'd be you. (Pause.)

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    Happiness consists in a being harmonious with itself. In a subject’s relation to itself that is affirmative, and not without clandestine operations and routines (i.e., the neurotic mind that affirms an image not its own to avoid confrontation). Despair, consists in a Kierkegaardian sickness, a self which does not want to be itself, that is, it consists in a subject’s relation to itself which is negative, which does not affirm that which it is. The problem of happiness is a very simple one: one must simply change ones attitudes towards oneself, one must simply affirm who one is.

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    Gran is alone, too. I don’t know why I never thought of it before. I think of the last five years, and Gran and Bob living in the same house all that time. I can’t decide if it’s nice or just really sad. “Why don’t you move to America? You could live at our house! I’m sure Mom and Dad wouldn’t mind.” Gran nods. “They’ve offered. Problem is, I love it here.” She raises her arms and kind of waves at the trees. “I love the place and I love the people.” So maybe it’s not sad that Gran lives alone. Maybe it’s a choice.

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    HAMM: Yesterday! What does that mean? Yesterday! CLOV (violently): That means that bloody awful day, long ago, before this bloody awful day. I use the words you taught me. If they don't mean anything any more, teach me others. Or let me be silent. (Pause.)

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    Happiness is a frightening state of being. If we let ourselves be happy, then there is something that can always be taken from us. In one minute, one second, everything can change.

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    Have you ever heard of the madman who on a bright morning lighted a lantern and ran to the market-place calling out unceasingly: "I seek God! I seek God!"—As there were many people standing about who did not believe in God, he caused a great deal of amusement. Why! is he lost? said one. Has he strayed away like a child? said another. Or does he keep himself hidden? Is he afraid of us? Has he taken a sea-voyage? Has he emigrated?—the people cried out laughingly, all in a hubbub. The insane man jumped into their midst and transfixed them with his glances. "Where is God gone?" he called out. "I mean to tell you! We have killed him,—you and I! We are all his murderers! But how have we done it? How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the whole horizon? What did we do when we loosened this earth from its sun? Whither does it now move? Whither do we move? Away from all suns? Do we not dash on unceasingly? Back-wards, sideways, forewards, in all directions? Is there still an above and below? Do we not stray, as through infinite nothingness? Does not empty space breathe upon us? Has it not become colder? Does not night come on continually, darker and darker? Shall we not have to light lanterns in the morning? Do we not hear the noise of the grave-diggers who are burying God? Do we not smell the divine putrefaction?—for even Gods putrefy! God is dead! God remains dead! And we have killed him! How shall we console ourselves, the most murderous of all murderers? The holiest and the mightiest that the world has hitherto possessed, has bled to death under our knife,—who will wipe the blood from us? With what water could we cleanse ourselves? What lustrums, what sacred games shall we have to devise? Is not the magnitude of this deed too great for us? Shall we not ourselves have to become Gods, merely to seem worthy of it? There never was a greater event,—and on account of it, all who are born after us belong to a higher history than any history hitherto!"—Here the madman was silent and looked again at his hearers; they also were silent and looked at him in surprise. At last he threw his lantern on the ground, so that it broke in pieces and was extinguished. "I come too early," he then said, "I am not yet at the right time. This prodigious event is still on its way, and is travelling,—it has not yet reached men's ears. Lightning and thunder need time, the light of the stars needs time, deeds need time, even after they are done, to be seen and heard. This deed is as yet further from them than the furthest star,—and yet they have done it!"—It is further stated that the madman made his way into different churches on the same day, and there intoned his Requiem æternam deo. When led out and called to account, he always gave the reply: "What are these churches now, if they are not the tombs and monuments of God?

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    Hard as it may sound, no god has saved anything or anyone in human history. It is the humans who have done so.

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    He had not the benefit of existentialist terminology; but what he felt was a very clear case of the anxiety of freedom - that is, the realization that one is free and the realization that being free is a situation of terror

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    Heidegger considers the human condition coldly and announces that existence is humiliated. The only reality is "anxiety" in the whole chain of being. To the man lost in the world and its diversions this anxiety is a brief, fleeting fear. But if that fear becomes conscious of itself, it becomes anguish, the perpetual climate of the lucid man "in whom existence is concentrated." This professor of philosophy writes without trembling and in the most abstract language in the world that "the finite and limited character of human existence is more primordial than man himself." His interest in Kant extends only to recognizing the restricted character of his "pure Reason." This is to conclude at the end of his analyses that "the world can no longer offer anything to the man filled with anguish." This anxiety seems to him so much more important than all the categories in the world that he thinks and talks only of it. He enumerates its aspects: boredom when the ordinary man strives to quash it in him and benumb it; terror when the mind contemplates death. He too does not separate consciousness from the absurd. The consciousness of death is the call of anxiety and "existence then delivers itself its own summons through the intermediary of consciousness." It is the very voice of anguish and it adjures existence "to return from its loss in the anonymous They." For him, too, one must not sleep, but must keep alert until the consummation. He stands in this absurd world and points out its ephemeral character. He seeks his way amid these ruins.

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    Her nausea increased, the dialect had become unfamiliar, the way our wet throats bathed the words in the liquid of saliva was intolerable. A sense of repulsion had invested all the bodies in movement, their bone structure, the frenzy that shook them. How poorly made we are, she thought, how insufficient. The broad shoulders, the arms, the legs, the ears, noses, eyes, seemed to her attributes of monstrous beings who had fallen from some corner of the black sky.

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    Her thoughts were like the moon eclipsing the sun.

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    He shuffles atoms and jet of light, remotest nebulae, drips of water, prick-points of sensation, slime-oozings and cosmic bulks, all mixed with pearls of faith, love of woman, imagined dignities, frightened surmises, and pompous arrogances, and of the stuff builds himself an immortality to startle the heavens and baffle the immensities. He squirms on his dunghill, and like a child lost in the dark among goblins, calls to the gods that he is their younger brother, a prisoner of the quick that is destined to be as free as they - monuments of egotism reared by the epiphenomena; dreams and the dust of dreams, that vanish when the dreamer vanishes and are no more when he is not.

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    He stayed under the fluorescent street light until the sounds of traffic and nightlife faded into silence, and only then did he look up into the night sky, the way he usually did when he was looking for answers.

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    hati terikat, jiwa bebas.--jika kau mengikat dan merantai hatimu kuatkuat, kau dapat memberikan banyak kebebasan pada jiwamu: itulah yang ku katakan pada suatu hari. akan tetapi orangorang tidak percaya, kecuali saat mereka benarbenar menemukannya

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    He realized that time, clocks ticking, everything is just a human-made concept. That clocks didn’t tick back in the times he was seeing now, and he realized that the sun never sets as long as you travel with it, circumnavigating the globe, once every 24 hours. It was a new thought, a new dogma to Jordan, evolving his idea of being more than one at once. It was an idea of being more than one time at once, literally moving along the 4th dimension. Not being pushed to the side, not being pushed up or down, not being pushed inward or outward, but being pushed in one way, without ever moving at all. They were being pushed along the track of time, with no way to go back, with no way to retract and go back to the starting point as they could in any of the three visible dimensions. And it was that thought, Jordan finally realized, that made him exhausted and scared. It was that realization that made Jordan realize that this was the thing Tong was afraid of. That through all his travels on planes and all his moving around the world, he could still go back to Bangkok, he could still go back to the hospital where he was born, but he could never go backward on that track and stand in the same place, only the same location, as where his first day began." -A Spontaneous Existence, Chandler Ivanko

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    He wrote arguments for and against life; he began to think the slowest and most painful form of suicide was living, running the whole decathlon of suffering, no breather or bottled water. Fear of dying was irrational. Death was utilitarian. Decrease in net resource consumption and planetary suffering. Increase in net comedy. There was no afterlife but there was a right-before-death, and medical research said it was loopy and nice, all white lights and gentle voices. With booze it wasn't even scary. Some people with terrible lives didn't kill themselves, but that didn't mean they shouldn't. Most people weren't alive and didn't mind. You couldn't regret it.

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    He’s a typical existentialist. And that’s a contradiction in terms if ever there was one.

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    His absence was a presence. Who knew an empty space could take up so much room.

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    Hiding my half existence behind the opaque walls of my skull, concealing it like a shameful disease, I did not consider the simple fact that the same thing could be occurring under other skullcaps, in other locked rooms.

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    He thought, that all men, trickled away, changing constantly, until they finally dissolved, while the artist-created images remained unchangeably the same. He thought that the fear of death was perhaps the root of all art, perhaps also of all things of the mind. We fear death, we shudder at life’s instability, we grieve to see the flowers wilt again and again, and the leaves fall, and in our hearts we know that we, too, are transitory and will search for laws and formulate thoughts, it is in order to salvage something from the great dance of death, to make something that lasts longer than we do. Perhaps the woman after whom the master shaped his beautiful Madonna is already wilted or dead, and soon he, too, will be dead; others will live in his house and eat at his table- but his work will still be standing hundreds of years from now, and longer. It will go on shimmering in the quiet cloister church, unchangingly beautiful, forever smiling with the same sad, flowering mouth.

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    His face was neither handsome nor anything else. It just was.

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    Holbrook broke the silence. “All for nothing,” he said. “What’s that?” Farid said. “All the treatments. The pain, the despair. It was all for nothing. She’s going to die anyway.” “I’m sorry, Pete,” Farid muttered. “Sorry again. You didn’t give her cancer, you know? That’s all anyone can say, though. ‘I’m sorry.’ You’re not responsible.” “I’m sorry anyway.” Sarah put a hand on Holbrook’s arm. “Freedom,” she said. “What?” “We’re going to lose anyway, no matter what we do, so we’re free to stop trying to win.” She sat up a little straighter, tugged on her shirt, smoothed out her skirt. “That’s what we’ve been talking about all this time, isn’t it?” Holbrook went quiet again and Farid was afraid Sarah might have alienated him. That’s what happens when you say something true. Nobody can hear it; they turn away from you, looking for a lie that’s easier to bear.

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    His primacy of self and willingness to perpetuate his will go beyond death and toward perfection.

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    His thoughts gravitated to the twisty, swirling riptides where he submerged in waters of subzero ruminations. His mind raced around the notion of–– the ultimate subtraction of oneself, and deduction-dwelling inside uninhabitable white.

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    How do you quantify love? Can you weigh it, measure it, pin it down with equations? If the sum of all experiences is really just the interaction of a finite soup of chemicals copulating in nerve endings, how did this even dare articulate the infinite? Mathematicians will tell you there are different types of infinities. Some are countable, some are not. We can love someone more and more; we can stop loving. But we can never guess how much all this is. Love has no units.

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    Human logic may be rationally adequate, but it is also existentially deficient. Faith declares that there is more than this - not contradicting, but transcending reason.

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    How is it I have the strength to carry my own weaknesses?

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    Human freedom brings with it the burden of choice and of its consequences. As humankind is akin to claim for its own special privilege a certain unique destiny not afforded with equal measure to other organisms, so must it further—if paradoxically so—entertain the assumption that, in spite of this glorious determinism, there persists nonetheless a thread of free will—or, at the very least, some vague delusion thereof—woven seamlessly into the tapestry of collective experience. Of course, this conception that destiny is to be forged by one’s own hands more often engenders greater restriction than it does greater extension to the potential of human happiness.

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    Hope is an all seeing eye that triangles the eternal humbleness in our existence. Hope is what makes us smile through our unwavering faith. When we hope, we organize our details to become conscious citizens of the world.

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    Humanism is naturalism.

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    Humans are the only helpline that humanity has got.

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    I am a psychological and historical structure. Along with existence, I received a way of existing, or a style. All of my actions and thoughts are related to this structure, and even a philosopher’s thought is merely a way of making explicit his hold upon the world, which is all he is. And Yet, I am free, not in spite of or beneath these motivations, but rather by their means. For that meaningful life, that particular signification of nature and history that I am, does not restrict my access to the world; it is rather my means of communication with it

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    I always thought I wasn't afraid to die. No... no one is afraid of death itself. Your pain and suffering is over in an instant. What really makes me suffer... Is seeing you crying over me... From the darkness of the Milky Way. I'm sorry... Please don't make that face. You look best shdn you're smiling, you know.

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    I am naked and a beggar and an atom in the vortex of humanity.

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    I believe for we are.

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    I decided to give up meaningless sex, but then I remembered that everything is meaningless.

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    Hypocrisy is the rule in this world rather than the exception. If a person desires to be free of hypocrisy, they should imagine that everything they do is always being watched and judged by others or in more superb cases, by the person they would like to become.

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    I am Lord God, so are you.

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    I ascended, I ascended, I dreamt, I thought,—but everything oppressed me. A sick one did I resemble, whom bad torture wearieth, and a worse dream reawakeneth out of his first sleep.— But there is something in me which I call courage: it hath hitherto slain for me every dejection. This courage at last bade me stand still and say: "Dwarf! Thou! Or I!"— For courage is the best slayer,—courage which attacketh: for in every attack there is sound of triumph. Man, however, is the most courageous animal: thereby hath he overcome every animal. With sound of triumph hath he overcome every pain; human pain, however, is the sorest pain. Courage slayeth also giddiness at abysses: and where doth man not stand at abysses! Is not seeing itself—seeing abysses? Courage is the best slayer: courage slayeth also fellow-suffering. Fellow-suffering, however, is the deepest abyss: as deeply as man looketh into life, so deeply also doth he look into suffering. Courage, however, is the best slayer, courage which attacketh: it slayeth even death itself; for it saith: "Was that life? Well! Once more!

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    I can always choose, but I ought to know that if I do not choose, I am still choosing.

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    I'd been living luminously between two eternities of darknness.