Best 1210 quotes in «meaning quotes» category

MASHA: Isn’t there some meaning? TOOZENBACH: Meaning? … Look out there, it’s snowing. What’s the meaning of that?

Maybe the meaning of life is simply to find meaning, to find the beauty, to find the joy, to find your happiness.

Maybe the things you hate are keeping you away from the things you love

Maybe we feel meaning only when we deal with something bigger. Perhaps we hope that someone else, especially someone important to us, will ascribe value to what we've produced? Maybe we need the illusion that our work might one day matter to many people. That it might be of some value in the big, broad world out there [...]? Most likely it is all of these. But fundamentally, I think that almost any aspect of meaning [...] can be sufficient to drive our behaviour. As long as we are doing something that is somewhat connected to our self image, it can fuel our motivation and get us to work much harder.

Mean what you say or don't say it at all.

Meaning can be found in action.

Meaning comes from the unknown, from the stranger, from the unpredictable that suddenly knocks at your door — a flower that suddenly blooms and you never expected it; a friend that suddenly happens to be on the street you were not waiting for; a love that blooms suddenly and you were not even aware that this was going to happen, you had not even imagined, not even dreamed. Then life has meaning. Then life has a dance. Then every step is happy because it is not a step filled with duty, it is a step moving into the unknown. The river is going towards the sea.

Meaning is always a latecomer. Beauty and music seduce us first; later ashamed of our own sensuality, we insist on meaning.

Meaning is often found embedded in the silent moments of our lives when we can hear and see what matters most, the things audible and visible only to the spirit.

Meaning and purpose are not important. What matters is that one has things one loves to do.

Meaning beginns in the words, in the action, continues in your head and ends nowhere. There is no end to meaning. Meaning which is resolved, parcelled, labelled and ready for export is dead, impartient — and meaningless.

Meanings with no purpose are useful for meaningless debates on what the "meaner" meant. And that's what #politics is all about - misreading.

Meaning is stacking melodies on top of each other. Meaning transcends the music it is constructed from.

Meaning springs from belonging.

Miedo de que no sea capaz de dar nada a cambio por mi vida. Si no vives una vida de servicio del bien mayor, tienes al menos que morir una muerta al servicio de un bien mayor, ¿sabes? Y temo que no tenga ni una vida o una muerte que signifique algo.

Millions of people acknowledge today that they do not know the meaning of life.

Mine was the naïveté of the living; now it is the confusion and longing of the dead. Pray when I am finished with this tale, I will go on to something greater. Punishment even would have its shape, its purpose, some conviction of meaning. I cannot imagine eternal flames. But I can imagine eternal meaning.

Mit Worten über Worte sprechen zu wollen, das ist, als würde man versuchen, mit einem Bleistift eben diesen Bleistift zu zeichnen, und zwar auf dem Bleistift sebst. Unmöglich. Verwirrend. Frustrierend.

Mistakes remind me that I'm still human. Pain reminds me that I'm still alive. Trying reminds me that there's still hope.

Modern man is drinking and drugging himself out of awarness, or he spends his time shopping, which is the same thing. As awarness calls for types of heroic dedication that his culture no longer provides for him, society contrives to help him forget. In the mysterious way in which life is given to us in evolution on this planet, it pushes in the direction of its own expansion. We don’t understand it simply because we don’t know the purpose of creation; we only feel life straining in ourselves and see it thrashing others about as they devour each other. Life seeks to expand in an unknown direction for unknown reasons. What are we to make of creation in which routine activity is for organisms to be tearing others apart with teeth of all types - biting, grinding flesh, plant stalks, bones between molars, pushing the pulp greedily down the gullet with delight, incorporating its essence into one’s own organization, and then excreting with foul stench and gasses residue. Everyone reaching out to incorporate others who are edible to him. The mosquitoes bloating themselves on blood, the maggots, the killer-bees attacking with a fury and a demonism, sharks continuing to tear and swallow while their own innards are being torn out - not to mention the daily dismemberment and slaughter in “natural” accidents of all types: an earthquake buries alive 70 thousand bodies in Peru, a tidal wave washes over a quarter of a million in the Indian Ocean. Creation is a nightmare spectacular taking place on a planet that has been soaked for hundreds of millions of years in the blood of all creatures. The soberest conclusion that we could make about what has actually been taking place on the planet about three billion years is that it is being turned into a vast pit of fertilizer. But the sun distracts our attention, always baking the blood dry, making things grow over it, and with its warmth giving the hope that comes with the organism’s comfort and expansiveness.

Money without meaning is meaningless

Money without time is next to meaningless.

More lives are being lost because some have lost their ability to understand the meaning of life.

Mortality is a most curious Experience: In our youthful beginnings we eagerly sacrifice our health and bodies to have even the slightest worldly gain... Then in our aging twilight we hurriedly sacrifice every penny of our hard won wealth in hopes of hanging onto even the slightest bit of of our once bountiful health. Curious indeed...

More than death, one fears the utter isolation that accompanies it. We try to go through life two by two, but each one of us must die alone- no one can die our death with us or for us. The shunning of the dying by the living prefigures final absolute abandonment

Mostly we tell the story of our lives, or mostly we're taught to tell it, as a quest to avoid suffering, though if your goal is a search for meaning, honor, experience, the same events may be victories or necessary steps. Then the personal matters; it's home; but you can travel in and out of it, rather than being marooned there. The leprosy specialist Paul Brand wrote, "Pain, along with its cousin touch, is distributed universally on the body, providing a sort of boundary of self," but empathy, solidarity, allegiance--the nerves that run out into the world--expand the self beyond its physical bounds.

Most information doesn’t constitute a story. Think of a telephone directory: lots of information, strong cast, but a bit weak on narrative. What counts in a story is its meaning. And that’s a very different concept from information.

My Mom often said... Every minute spent with Mr. wrong is a minute that can't be spent with Mr. Right.

Most people never truly live because they never do what they truly love.

My Ego taught me a new pride, I teach it to men: No longer to bury the head in the sand of heavenly things, but to carry it freely, an earthly head which creates meaning for the earth!

My greatest Spiritual growth has NEVER occurred while I was comfortable and safe. It is the difficult that builds my Soul.

My great longing is to learn to make those very incorrectnesses, those deviations, remodellings, changes of reality, so that they may become, yes, untruth if you like - but more true than the literal truth.

My life came to a standstill. I could breathe, eat, drink and sleep, and I could not help doing these things; but there was no life, for there were no wishes the fulfilment of which I could consider reasonable. If I desired anything, I knew in advance that whether I satisfied my desire or not, nothing would come of it. Had a fairy come and offered to fulfil my desires I should not have known what to ask. If in moments of intoxication I felt something which, though not a wish, was a habit left by former wishes, in sober moments I knew this to be a delusion and that there was really nothing to wish for. I could not even wish to know the truth, for I guess of what it consisted. The truth was that life is meaningless.

My objective is to create my own world and these images which we create mean nothing more than the images which they are. We have forgotten how to relate emotionally to art: we treat it like editors, searching in it for that which the artist has supposedly hidden. It is actually much simpler than that, otherwise art would have no meaning. You have to be a child—incidentally children understand my pictures very well, and I haven’t met a serious critic who could stand knee-high to those children. We think that art demands special knowledge; we demand some higher meaning from an author, but the work must act directly on our hearts or it has no meaning at all.

Most of the things that give life its depth, meaning, and value are impervious to science.

Most social media users sometimes like statements they do not understand.

Multiple factors play into the narrative of what it now means to be a man like, the shift in societal expectations of the role of men and women, our culture’s relentless drumbeat that tells us our biggest ambition should be the pursuit of a safe and comfortable and convenient lifestyle, the rise of soul-sucking habits like video games and porn, the devaluing of marriage and sex, a general, gradual, steady, relentless lowering of the bar of what it really means to be a man.

My husband said to me while I was swooning in his arms, 'Why are all the longest dances the draggiest?' I took this to mean that he has not loved me for a very long time. Everything means something, or it does not. I have expressed an opinion. Every effect has a source that is not unfamiliar. It's all so evil. ("The Uncanny")

My love for you was so big,  I taught you strength, to be free,  so much so that you no longer needed me,  that was the great sacrifice I didn't foresee,  as I am here longing and so lonely.  I would do it ALL the same again,  for you to be happy,  though you don't require me,  you are free,  And that is how big a father's love can be...

My only armor is my belief that life has meaning...

Mythology was never designed to describe historically verifiable events that actually happened. It was an attempt to express their inner significance or to draw attention to realities that were too elusive to be discussed in a logically coherent way.

Nature never remembers, that’s why she’s beautiful.

My mother and father were always pushing me away from secondhand answers—even the answers they themselves believed. I don’t know that I have ever found any satisfactory answers of my own. But every time I ask it, the question is refined. That is the best of what the old heads meant when they spoke of being “politically conscious”—as much a series of actions as a state of being, a constant questioning, questioning as ritual, questioning as exploration rather than the search for certainty.

Noise guides only as light blinds.

Njia rahisi ya kujua maana ya ndoto zako ni kurekodi ndoto zako kila siku asubuhi, au kila unapoota, kwa angalau majuma mawili. Baada ya muda huo ndoto zako zitaanza kuleta maana. Lengo lake kubwa ni kukufanya ujitambue.

Noise in the form of words'; that’s what life is about.

No man voluntarily expresses his opinion without some intent to make a difference, and even if he does, he shouldn't.

No action is safe from meaning.

No empire lasts forever, no dynasty continues unbroken. Some day, you and I will be mere legends. All that matters is whether we did what we could with the life that was given to us.

No-one knows enough to righteously say something is impossible. “With God ALL things are possible.” Now tell me, what does that leave out?