And this is the strangest of all paradoxes of the human adventure; we live inside all experience, but we are permitted to bear witness only to the outside. Such is the riddle of life and the story of the passing of our days.
To sense that behind anything that can be experienced there is a something that our mind cannot grasp and whose beauty and sublimity reaches us only indirectly and as a feeble reflection, this is religiousness. In this sense I am religious.
I am satisfied with the mystery of life's eternity and with a knowledge, a sense, of the marvelous structure of existence - as well as the humble attempt to understand even a tiny portion of the Reason that manifests itself in nature.
I err on the side of a kind of optimistic agnostic sense that there's something that put us all here - some energy or something that we are not in a position to understand.
Our existence is beyond our explanation, whether we believe in God or we have religion or we're atheist. Our existence is beyond our understanding. No one has an answer.
I felt in my bones that this universe does not explain itself.
What I want to show in my work is the idea which hides itself behind so-called reality. I am seeking for the bridge which leans from the visible to the invisible through reality. It may sound paradoxical, but it is in fact reality which forms the mystery of our existence.
The thing is, you throw brains and souls into an animal and stir, you don’t really know what you’re going to get.
I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul Where I end up, well, I think only God really knows.
It is not probable that the reader will be satisfied with any of these solutions, and contemporary philosophers, even rationalistically minded ones, have on the whole agreed that no one has intelligibly banished the mystery of fact.
For men to tell how human life began Is hard; for who himself beginning knew?
Who you are is a mystery no one can answer, not even you.
The very greatest mystery is in unsheathed reality itself.
The Ultimate Mystery: Why the universe ever existed at all.
Strange is our situation here on earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to divine a purpose.
The ultimate mystery is one's own self.
The mystery of existence is the connection between our faults and our misfortunes.
A lifetime isn't nearly long enough to figure out what it's all about.
How does the cosmos create? That's not just any question, it's 'the' question. It's the God Problem.
Man is a stream whose source is hidden. Our being is descending into us from we know not whence. The most exact calculator has noprescience that somewhat incalculable may not balk the very next moment. I am constrained every moment to acknowledge a higher origin for events than the will I call mine.
Lifelessness is only a disguise behind which hide unknown forms of life.
Why we are here is an impenetrable question.
The last function of reason is to recognize that there are an infinity of things which surpass it.
The great mystery is not that we should have been thrown down here at random between the profusion of matter and that of the stars; it is that from our very prison we should draw, from our own selves, images powerful enough to deny our own nothingness.
Man is a stream whose source is hidden. Our being is descending into us from we know not whence.
