Quotes about Lost

The names of the cerros and the sierras and the deserts exist only on maps. We name them that we do not lose our way. Yet it was because the way was lost to us already that we have made those names. The world cannot be lost. We are the ones. And it is because these names and these coordinates are our own naming that they cannot save us. They cannot find for us the way again.

Do you remember that little boy, Papa? Yes. I remember him. Do you think he's all right that little boy? Oh yes. I think he's all right. Do you think he was lost? No. I don't think he was lost. I'm scared that he was lost. I think he's all right. But who will find him if he's lost? Who will find that little boy? Goodness will find the little boy. It always has. It will again.

He went among vendors and beggars and wild street preachers haranguing a lost world with vigor unknown to the sane. Suttree admired them with their hot eyes and dogeared bibles, God's barkers gone forth into the world like the prophets of old.

But who will find him if he's lost? Who will find the little boy? Goodness will find the little boy. It always has. It will again.

Lumea nu are nici un nume. Numele de cerros, sierras si deserturi exista numai pe harti. Le punem nume ca sa nu ne ratacim. Dar am inventat aceste nume tocmai pentru ca am ratacit deja drumul. Lumea nu se poate pierde. Noi ne pierdem. Si tocmai pentru ca noi am pus numele acestea si am numit aceste coordonate, numele lor nu ne poate salva. Nu pot regasi drumul in locul nostru.

And he could go on in life, existing from day to day, without connection and without hope. For he did not know what to do with himself.

If any person desires to think, he must possess memory, imagination and reasoning power; but the Christian has presently lost these powers, hence is unable to think. He cannot create, deduce or recollect, nor can he compare, judge and apprehend. Therefore he cannot think. And should he attempt to do so he experiences a kind of dazed sensation which stifles any productive thought.

Never make it without the compass. In the trees, I'd lose all sense of perspective. Direction. Maybe life is like that.

Every moment spent in unhappiness is a moment of happiness lost.

Humility must always be doing its work like a bee making honey in the hive: without humility all will be lost.

We live in a world when men treat art as if it were meant to be a form of autobiography. We have lost the abstract sense of beauty.

Art is lost in pop "art" as sport is lost in professional "sport"—which is an oxymoron of the strongest kind. Absurdity reigns, and confusion makes it look good.