Best 1210 quotes in «meaning quotes» category

We have to stop quantifying ourselves. Why as people do we identify our lives and a part of our identities as 20 something's or 30 something's. I am very much alive. I notice the heavy warm breeze, the blue of the sky, my chocolate kind of freckles that form from the warm sun...my god that sun. The warmth. I hear the sound of night. I recognize the vastness of the sky. The stars all those stars. Our lives are some kind of special. I'm done being so quick about it or so mundane about it. We are not chipmunks or squirrels in that way we can actually chew our food slowly. Taste the temperature of our drinks. Our lives are so short already. We are so small in this gigantic space sweating over small things as opposed to taking in the little things. There will always be something to do or something happening how we handle it is all the difference. We are small in such a huge colossal universe that somewhere someone bigger than us is probably laughing. Love. Eat well. Wonder. Just be...in the moment. Laugh. Spread joy. We are all works in progress. That is all xo

We know the meaning so long as no one asks us to define it.

We look to the accumulation of sensory pleasures to give our lives meaning. We have the ability now to consume anything we want and this capacity far exceeds our actual needs. With so much at our fingertips, a kind of gluttony pervades our mind-sets.

Well, it is true. Sometimes avoiding something can give it more and more meaning rather than less and less.

We make art to feel life. We do science to understand it.

We must abandon completely the notion of blaming the past for any kind of situation we're in and reverse our thinking and see that the past always flows back form the present. That now is the creative point of life. So you see its like the idea of forgiving somebody, you change the meaning of the past by doing that...Also watch the flow of music. The melody as its expressed is changed by notes that come later. Just as the meaning of a sentence...you wait till later to find out what the sentence means...The present is always changing the past.

We need to think of the self as a continuum, a steady story over time. The mind is always searching for similarities, associations, repetitions, because they create meaning.

We love to learn because learning feels good. It both satisfies and stimulates curiosity. Reading a good book, having a meaningful conversation, listening to great music—just doing these things make us happy. They have no extrinsic purpose. To give them one takes away from their joy.

We possess art lest we perish of the truth.

We’re all the same. We all have the means to save ourselves and carry ourselves home.

We put our faith in things great and small. We assign to them meaning they may actually have, or meaning that we need for them to have in order to carry on.

Were all trying to find meaning to make sense of our realities; in search of happiness within, Without realising our happiness within; is the only reality that gives life a meaning.

We shape our lives around words, words whose meaning are always changing.

We swim against― our own sweet moments― lapping the hours in expanded pleasures that swagger away― our wilting sentience― pretending to be― existent―

We think of ourselves as failures, rather than renounce our belief in the possibility of perfection. We hang on to the hope of eternal love by denying even its temporary validity. It´s less painful to think 'I'm shallow', 'She's self centred', 'We couldn't communicate', 'It was all just physical', than to accept the simple fact that love is a passing sensation, for reasons beyond our control and even beyond our personalities. But who can reassure himself with his own rationalizations? No argument can fill the void of a dead feeling -- that reminder of the ultimate void, our final inconstancy. We're untrue even to life.

We strive toward the middle, and we run from ourselves.

We suffer from the malady of words, and have no trust in any feeling that is not stamped with its special word.

We want life to make sense. If we don’t find meaning and orientation, we are bound to fabulate a living and invent an inspiring life story. When we write out a chosen script, we’ll have to make time to hunker down into attuning it to the hitches of the road map, time and again, with fractious patience. ( "Everybody his story" )

We will go on producing myths, ways of explaining ourselves to ourselves but, like everything else about us, they are in constant transition and we must not fundamentalise any of them.

What a mystery we are to ourselves, even as we go on, learning more, sorting it out a little. The further on we go, the more meaning there is but the less articulable. You live your life, and the older you get – the more specificity you harvest – the more precious becomes every ounce and spam. Your life and times don’t drain of meaning because they become more contradictory, ornamented by paradox, inexplicable. Rather the opposite, maybe. The less explicable, the more meaning. The less a mathematics equation (a sum game); the more like music (significant secret).

What better way to oppose the monopolisation of truth and meaning than to go in search of their foundations within one’s own psyche?

What did it all mean? He thought of his own life, the high hopes with which he had entered upon it, the limitations which his body forced upon him, his friendlessness, and the lack of affection which had surrounded his youth. He did not know that he had ever done anything but what seemed best to do, and what a cropper he had come! Other men, with no more advantages than he, succeeded, and others again, with many more, failed. It seemed pure chance. The rain fell alike upon the just and upon the unjust, and for nothing was there a why and a wherefore.

What can a meaning outside my condition mean to me? I can understand only in human terms. What I touch, what resists me--that is what I understand. And these two certainties--my appetite for the absolute and for unity and the impossibility of reducing this world to a rational and reasonable principle--I also know that I cannot reconcile them. What other truth can I admit without lying, without bringing in a hope which I lack and which means nothing within the limits of my condition?

...WHAT DID YOU DO TODAY ...that counts? ...that carries meaning? ...that made the day worthwhile? ...what will you do tomorrow?

What did he understand? Nothing. Where was he headed? Nowhere. What did he want? To know. What? A meaning. Why? A riddle.

What distresses us is not loosing life, but losing what gives it meaning.

What does it mean to be healthy? Heal Thy.

What does it mean to be me? I don't know. Maybe that's just it. Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Maybe that's the answer. Maybe all I am is emptiness, is nothing.

We must strive to become more daily. We must honestly assess our weaknesses and overcome them. We must work toward the highest possible version of ourselves. This is a worthy use of our time, but it is only when we do so with the ultimate aim of service to our fellow man that we really connect with something greater than ourselves. To contribute to the world in a positive way, this is the gift of life.

We thought we were together, climbing the same mountain, But you were only climbing yours, I was only climbing mine I stepped on your hands to get higher, you clawed at my back to get higher And though you fell, I got higher, You fell... I got higher I wish it was me that fell instead of you I wish my wishes weren't lies and could be true, you were sacrificed, I got higher. In this twisted world down is up and wrong is right, as I climb higher, Down towards hell, I'm ever deeper, I'm losing my sight, my will to fight I'm glad you fell, in the fall you've gone higher. You've gone higher

What is clear is that meaning may not be something we find. We found no meaning in our son's death, or in the deaths of countless others. The most we could hope was that we might be able to create meaning.

What interests me in all these papers is not Susan Burling Ward, the novelist and illustrator, and not Oliver Ward the engineer, and not the West they spend their lives in. What really interests me is how two such unlike particles clung together, and under what strains, rolling downhill into their future until they reached the angle of repose where I knew them. That's where the interest is. That's where the meaning will be if I find any.

What is a goal without a purpose?

What is fascinating is that it is physical. You know, that's one thing about intellectuals, they've proved that you can be absolute brilliant and have no idea what's going on. But on the other hand, the body doesn't lie, as we now know. Nono, it'll be great, because all of those ph.Ds are in there, like, discussing modes of alienation, and we'll be in here quietly humping.

What is the most important thing in your life? For me, it is my freedom of mind, my freedom to choose my own ways of self-construction or self-destruction.

What is the meaning of life?" She asked me. "Life has no meaning!" I said. "Then why do we live?" She asked me. "To create the meaning!" I said.

What is the meaning of it all, of this...of this world? 'Mystery', I heard in my thoughts, or perhaps, 'mercy', but I wasn't certain of either.

What is the point of our lives? There isn't any. I can't seem to decide how much horror and how much joy lies within that simple truth, but I know it is both of those things at once.

WHAT IS TRUTH? Truth is not a thing Or a concept. It is as multidimensional In its meaning As it is in its reflection. It is both invisible And visible. It carries tons of weight, But can be carried. It is understood first through the spirit Before science, And felt in the heart, Before the mind. Truth is not always heard by reason, Because reason sometimes Ignores Truth. Always listen to your conscience. Your conscience is your heart And reason is your mind. Your mind is simply there to reason With your heart. But remember, Truth is in your heart, And only through your heart Can you connect to the light of God. He who is not motivated by his heart Will not see Truth, And he who thinks only with his mind Will be blind to Truth. He who does not think With his conscience, Does not stand by God, For the language of light Can only be decoded by the heart. He who reads and recites words of God Also does not stand by God – If he merely understands Words with his mind But not his heart. Truth is black and white, And the entire spectrum Of colors in-between. It can have many parts, But has a solid foundation. Truth lacks perfection, For it is the reflection of all, Yet its reflection as a whole, Is more beautiful Than the accumulated flaws Of the small. Truth is the only brand Worth breathing And believing. So stand for truth In everything you do, And only then Does your life have Meaning. Poetry by Suzy Kassem

What makes life worth living? Any answer would be as fatuous as the question itself.

What's all this about? How does it work? What should I do? What am I for?

What should I take? Something that will not be missed. In the wood at midnight, a magic flower.

What song, what home, what calm or one clarity can I not quite come to, never quite see: this field, this sky, this tree.

What's in a name?

What's simple is that everything good comes from God, and everything bad comes from man. Where it gets complicated is that everything seemingly good but ultimately bad comes from man, and everything seemingly bad but ultimately good comes from God.

What's the meaning of ignore? You hear somebody, but you never asnwer to him!

What's writ is what's read, yet the meaning is gone, since context is what gives each quote its own home.

What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls a butterfly.” —Richard David Bach The caterpillar believes it is dying because it's being sealed in a tomb. The Master knows that the caterpillar is not dying, and is simply transitioning (to something more). This points out that things are never over, that change is carrying us, (so often kicking and screaming), to higher states of being. I find it interesting that the caterpillar spends it's caterpillar existence crawling, (on a lone weed in the midst of an endless beautiful forest), surviving on bitter, poisonous leaves. Yet resists the changes to come. After the caterpillars "death"... And upon the butterflie's rebirth... The butterfly lives out it's butterfly existence experiencing all of the forest's wonders, being carried by the wind, landing on beauty, and drinking sweet nectar, all the while, being shielded from harm by the caterpillar's bitter and poisonous experiences of eating the weeds. Without the struggles of the caterpillar, the butterfly could never be. It is Truly wonderful how something as simple as caterpillars and butterflies can be such amazing reminders sent to us by a Loving Eternal Creator.

What we needed were not words and promises but the steady accumulation of small realities.

What would a person say to himself in the madness of sincerity? But it would be salvation. Thought the terror of sincerity comes from the part of the shadows that connect me to the world and to the creating unconscious of the world. Today is a night with many stars in the sky. It stopped raining.