Best 1210 quotes in «meaning quotes» category

I mean, I think even God would agree with this at this point. God’s existence isn’t important. It’s what we do with what we’ve got that counts.

Im Grunde sind diese Gedanken ganz ohne Bedeutung. Die Dingen geschehen eben und ich suche, wie Millionen Menschen vor mir, in ihnen einen Sinn, weil meine Eitelkeit nicht gestatten will, zuzugeben, daß der ganze Sinn eines Geschehnisses in ihm selbst liegt. Kein Käfer, den ich achtlos zertrete, wird in diesem, für ihn traurigen Ereignis einen geheimnisvollen Zusammenhang von universeller Bedeutung sehen, Er war in dem Augenblick unter meinem Fuß, als ich niedertrat; Wohlbehagen im Licht, ein kurzer schriller Schmerz und Nichts. Nur wir sind dazu verurteilt, einer Bedeutung nachzujagen, die es nicht geben kann.

I’m hallucinating meaning.

I’m in no hurry: the sun and the moon aren’t, either. Nobody goes faster than the legs they have. If where I want to go is far away, I’m not there in an instant. (6/20/1919)

I'm left with the pages of my life just turning, The story being filled slowly day by day, But the end is approaching and it is out of my hands, Hopefully I will reach my climax, Hopefully I will be able to draw my conclusions, Until then … All I can do is just turn the page

I'm not punished for my Spiritual mistakes... I'm punished by them.

I'm not really putting this very well. My point is this: This book contains precisely zero Important Life Lessons, or Little-Known Facts About Love, or sappy tear-jerking Moments When We Knew We Had Left Our Childhood Behind for Good, or whatever. And, unlike most books in which a girl gets cancer, there are definitely no sugary paradoxical single-sentence-paragraphs that you're supposed to think are deep because they're in italics. Do you know what I'm talking about? I'm talking about sentences like this: The cancer had taken her eyeballs, yet she saw the world with more clarity than ever before. Barf. Forget it. For me personally, things are in no way more meaningful because I got to know Rachel before she died. If anything, things are less meaningful. All right?

In a single wave of meaning the triumphant purity of being.

'Mysticism' here means, in the literal sense, a change of sensory impressions and organ sensations into something unreal and beyond this world.

I'm Thankful in the knowledge that Each of us are making choices according to the best light we have. That there is never reason for embarrassment, humiliation, regret. This Life we live is here for us to make mistakes and learn from them and Spiritually grow. Imagining a person that has never made mistakes is like staring at an unworkable stone.

In America a child can no longer visit the place where she was born a shopping mall stands there instead. In America a grownup can no longer see the school where she learned the art of growing sad a freeway goes through there now an overpass her memories of brick turn to glass the suburb goes from white to black and time speeds up so much she has to stay young forever and reset the clock every five minutes just to know where is there and there is everywhere because she lives in time and not in any space! In our country here the future is in ruins before it is built a fact recognized by postmodern architecture that grins at us shyly or demonically as it quoted ruins from other times and places! There are no buildings in America only passageways that connect migratory floods the most permanent architecture being precisely that which moves these floods from one future ruin to another that is to say freeways and skyways and the car is our only shelter the architecture of desire reduced to the womb a womb in transit from one nowhere to another!” Saddened by his own vision and sensing smugness in the audience, Wakefield is revolted by his desire to please the foreigners. He coughs. He is portraying his own country now for the sake of… what? Applause? There isn't any. He veers down another path. “The miracle of America is of motion not regret in New Mexico the has face of Jesus jumped on a tortilla in Plaquermine a Virgin appeared in a tree In Santuari de Chimayo the dirt turned healer a guy in Texas crasahed into a wall when God said Let me take the wheel! And others hear voice all the time telling them to sit under a tree or jump from a cliff or take large baskets of eggs into Blockbuster to throw at the videos the voices of God are everywhere heard loud and clear under the hum of the tickertape and all these miracle and speaking gods are the mysteries left homeless by the Architecture of speed and moving forward onward and ahead!” Wakefield throws his hands into the air as if to sprinkle fairy dust on the room; he is evoking the richness of a place always ready for miracles.

In a world without meaning nothing is meaningless.

In conscious life, we achieve some sense of ourselves as reasonably unified, coherent selves, and without this action would be impossible. But all this is merely at the ‘imaginary’ level of the ego, which is no more than the tip of the iceberg of the human subject known to psychoanalysis. The ego is function or effect of a subject which is always dispersed, never identical with itself, strung out along the chains of the discourses which constitute it. There is a radical split between these two levels of being — a gap most dramatically exemplified by the act of referring to myself in a sentence. When I say ‘Tomorrow I will mow the lawn,’ the ‘I’ which I pronounce is an immediately intelligible, fairly stable point of reference which belies the murky depths of the ‘I’ which does the pronouncing. The former ‘I’ is known to linguistic theory as the ‘subject of the enunciation’, the topic designated by my sentence; the latter ‘I’, the one who speaks the sentence, is the ‘subject of the enunciating’, the subject of the actual act of speaking. In the process of speaking and writing, these two ‘I’s’ seem to achieve a rough sort of unity; but this unity is of an imaginary kind. The ‘subject of the enunciating’, the actual speaking, writing human person, can never represent himself or herself fully in what is said: there is no sign which will, so to speak, sum up my entire being. I can only designate myself in language by a convenient pronoun. The pronoun ‘I’ stands in for the ever-elusive subject, which will always slip through the nets of any particular piece of language; and this is equivalent to saying that I cannot ‘mean’ and ‘be’ simultaneously. To make this point, Lacan boldly rewrites Descartes’s ‘I think, therefore I am’ as: ‘I am not where I think, and I think where I am not.

In eighty-six years, child, I've learned the world is a far more mysterious place than most people realize and that every moment of life is woven through with meaning.

In Egyptian Arabic, the word 'insan' means 'human'. If we remove the 'n', the word becomes 'insa', which means 'to forget'. So you see, the word 'forget' is taken from the word 'human'. And since it was God who created our minds and hearts, He knew from the very beginning that we would quickly forget our history, only to keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again. So the ultimate test of every human is to seek wisdom. After all, wisdom is gained from having a good memory. Only after we have passed this test will we evolve to become better humans. Man is only a forgetful mortal, but God — He sees, hears and remembers everything.

In English, consciousness and unconsciousness are part of a vertical plane, so that we wake up ↑ and we fall ↓ asleep and we sink ↓ into a coma. Chinese uses the horizontal line, so that to wake is to cross a border towards consciousness → and to faint is to go back ← . Meanwhile, time itself is vertical so that last year is “the year above” ↑ and next year is “the year below” ↓. The day before yesterday is the day “in front” ↑ and the day after tomorrow is the day “behind” ↓. This means that future generations are not the generations ahead, but the ones behind. Therefore, to look into the future one must turn around...

information is to knowledge what meaning is to comprehension

In many ways, the heart does resemble a house. It is divided into multiple chambers, separated by doors. The walls have a characteristic texture. The house is old, designed over many millennia. Hidden from view are the wires and pipes that keep it functioning. And though the house has no intrinsic meaning, it carries meaning because of the meanings we attribute to it.

In modern society the term "no" have changed meaning. It now seems to be an abbreviation for "Negotiations Open".

In old days, instead of asking a teacher, people looked at the dictionary to know the complete definition of teacher. Now Google becomes our teacher and to know about Google, people Google it.

In reference to God, Love and fear are the same. To fear God is to do His will. To Love God is to do His will.

In Sanskrit words are like living beings; depending on context, circumstance and environment their mood varies and meaning differs.

Inspiration in the wee hours of the morning is the golden ticket

In teaching the young you have to satisfy the schoolchild in yourself and enter the region where all meanings start. That is where, in any case, the philosopher has perpetually to start.

In the absence of a story or foundation that gives hope or meaning, life has become a never-ending quest for pleasure and experience. Instead of being good, people want to feel good.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." John1:1 Words carry great power, it is quite important to know not so much what the dictionary says that they mean, but what the ancients say that they mean. Judaism believes that the entirety was created by rearranging the 22 letters of its alphabet into words, and whatever was spelled by God was created. "And God SAID let there be light and there was" God said/spelled a word first before any creation. In the beginning, was the word. Jesus, while on the cross, could have easily said, "Forgive them Father for they know not what they say

In the darkest of places, even the slightest glimmer of Light shines as the Sun.

In the body there are two creatures, and they are both in enmity with each other. For one to do anything, the other has to be subjected to it. One has a mind and the other only has an appetite. The more the mind gets, the more it is satisfied, but the more the appetite gets, the more its hunger grows; its appetite is for imaginary things, it dreams that it is eating, but when it wake, which it dreads to do, it is empty and pangs.

In the end we're all on a journey of sorts. We wait for a sign or something that attracts our attention. Look for a deeper meaning to it all. That's what poetry is for. Searching.

In the example of the navigator, no writing was essential to draw the meaning of observing the object at a distance from the ship. In the real the observation has been noted and that is enough to give it a meaning, a subjective meaning, a meaning exclusively important for the navigator himself.

In the old days, when Hawaiians wanted to give a gift, they doesn't have Safeway. Or any money. They had to take from nature what the gods gave them. Gather the flowers, make the twine, string the flowers. Lots of time and effort. We do the work just to say, 'I love you.' No meaning when we buy a lei in the supermarket.

In the quantum multiverse all eventualities are possible. Which means, paradoxically, that all eventualities are inevitable. They have also quite possibly already happened. Make of that what you will, not that your will has much to do with it. Because here's the thing. If you believe that consciousness is an accumulation of memory; if you believe that you often know what's going to occur either through some animal instict or a human subscription to fate, then you are a walking and talking embodiment of everything happening all at once.

I often feel an aversion, even disgust at the same words written and spoken over and over – at the same expressions, phrases, and metaphors repeated. And the worst is, when I listen to myself I have to admit that I too endlessly repeat the same things. They’re so horribly frayed and threadbare, these words, worn out by constant overuse. Do they still have any meaning?

I once struggled in Hell, and was then admitted into Heaven. It all happened in one moment while not moving from my chair. In that moment I simply changed my heart, deciding that I had a Perfect and Loving Creator who was giving and taking as needed to help me, his child, grow and mature. At that moment ALL that had ever occurred in my life (Joyous or difficult) was transformed into Heavenly Blessings and I ceased being a tortured victim in Hell.

I opened up a dictionary And tried to find a meaning in a hurry. Turned the pages to look for the word -- "Perfect" And saw you listed there, coz I know you're worth it!

I need anything, anything that will stop me from living in the kind of death the bourgeois eat, the death called comfort.

In every aspect of our lives, there are many, equally valid ways to reach a positive outcome. There are always many ways to achieve a goal, gain expertise, or find success.

Information may travel at light speed, but meaning spreads at the speed of dark.

In having compassion for another's Spiritual blindness, I can learn to Forgive myself.

Inner peace is more a question of cultivating perspective, meaning, and wisdom even as life touches you with its pain.

In regard to propaganda the early advocates of universal literacy and a free press envisaged only two possibilities: the propaganda might be true, or it might be false. They did not foresee what in fact has happened, above all in our Western capitalist democracies—the development of a vast mass communications industry, concerned in the main neither with the true nor the false, but with the unreal, the more or less totally irrelevant. In a word, they failed to take into account man's almost infinite appetite for distractions.

I pass and I stay, like the Universe.

I realized that I had the choice. I could give this moment a meaning, or I could choose to ignore it. It just depended on the kind of story I wanted to tell myself.

I remembered that once, as a child, I was filled with wonder, that I had marveled at tri-folded science projects, encyclopedias, and road atlases. I left much of that wonder somewhere back in Baltimore. Now I had the privilege of welcoming it back like a long-lost friend, though our reunion was laced with grief; I mourned over all the years that were lost. The mourning continues. Even today, from time to time, I find myself on beaches watching six-year-olds learn to surf, or at colleges listening to sophomores slip from English to Italian, or at cafés seeing young poets flip though "The Waste Land," or listening to the radio where economists explain economic things that I could've explored in my lost years, mourning, hoping that I and all my wonder, my long-lost friend, have not yet run out of time, though I know that we all run out of time, and some of us run out of it faster.

I run because I am an animal. I run because it is part of my genetic wiring. I run because millions of years of evolution have left me programmed to run. And, finally, I run because there's no better way to see the sun rise and set.

Inside of us is something indefinable, something core, something that moves us on. It is precious and mysterious. Call it an inner compass or some other name but it is a self actualising guidance system. All of us are born with it. Sometimes it gets crushed or scared indoors to whisper quietly in people's hearts.

I only found myself when I stopped looking. . .

I sat pondering the idea of the absence of meaning. Was our life nothing more than a sequence of anonymous screams in a desert of indifferent stars?

I saw that there is no Nature, That Nature doesn’t exist, That there are hills, valleys, plains, That there are trees, flowers, weeds, That there are rivers and stones, But there is not a whole these belong to, That a real and true wholeness Is a sickness of our ideas.

I see you better in music, I hear you better in wind, I feel you more in a flooding moonlight, that understands nothing, but darkness and silence.