Pointlessness Quotes

“Never wrestle with pigs. You both get dirty and the pig likes it.”
― George Bernard Shaw

“Normal is getting dressed in clothes that you buy for work and driving through traffic in a car that you are still paying for - in order to get to the job you need to pay for the clothes and the car, and the house you leave vacant all day so you can afford to live in it.”
― Ellen DeGeneres

“If I had known it was harmless I would have killed it myself.”
― Philip K. Dick, A Scanner Darkly

“Some people were born just so they could be buried.”
― Donald Ray Pollock, The Devil All the Time

“When compared to the fact that he might very well be dead by this time tomorrow, whether he was courageous or not today was pointless, empty. When compared to the fact that he might be dead tomorrow, everything was pointless. It just didn't make any difference. It was pointless to the tree, it was pointless to every man in his outfit, pointless to everybody in the whole world. Who cared? It was not pointless only to him; and when he was dead, when he ceased to exist, it would be pointless to him too. More important: Not only would it be pointless, it would have been pointless all along.

This was an obscure and rather difficult point to grasp. Understanding of it kept slipping in and out on the edges of his mind. It flickered, changing its time sense and tenses. At those moments when he understood it, it left him with a very hollow feeling.”
― James Jones, The Thin Red Line

“Yes, be different, but not for the vanities of being different.”
― Criss Jami, Killosophy

“In middle school I played against you once. And lost. I was so frustrated that I continued practicing even after I retired... And then when I entered high school, hell yeah, I laughed. The guy I vowed to defeat no matter what was standing right in front of me as one of my own teammates. But now it's pointless to hold a grudge. Rather, I wanted to make you recognize me. (Takao Kazunari)”
― Tadatoshi Fujimaki

“There are the girls we love, the men we look up to, the tenderness, the friendships, the opportunities, the pleasures! But the fact remains that you must touch your reward with clean hands, lest it turn to dead leaves, to thorns, in your grasp.”
― Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim

“Do you think that a billion people knowing your face makes you special?
It doesn't.”
― Ramez Naam, Crux

“Complaints of feeling cut off, shut off, out of touch, feeling apart or strange, of things being out of focus or unreal, of not feeling one with people, or of the point having gone out of life, interest flagging, things seeming futile and meaningless, all describe in various ways this state of mind. Patients usually call it 'depression', but it lacks the heavy, black, inner sense of brooding, of anger and of guilt, which are not difficult to discover in classic depression. Depression is really a more extraverted state of mind, which, while the patient is turning his aggression inwards against himself, is part of a struggle not to break out into overt angry and aggressive behaviour. The states described above are rather the 'schizoid states'. They are definitely introverted. Depression is object-relational. The schizoid person has renounced objects, even though he still needs them.”
― Harry Guntrip, Schizoid Phenomena, Object Relations and the Self

“In human closeness there is a secret edge,
Nor love nor passion can pass it above,
Let lips with lips be joined in silent rage,
And hearts be burst asunder with the love.

And friendship, too, is powerless plot,
And so years of bliss with noble tends,
When your heart is free and known not,
The slow languor of the earthy sense.

And they who strive to reach this edge are mad,
But they who reached are shocked with anguish hard -
Now you know why beneath your hand
You do not feel the beating of my heart.”
― Anna Akhmatova

“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.”
― Ashly Lorenzana

“At a certain point memory becomes a beach strewn with landmines, all life’s many losses buried in those sands.”
― Thomas H. Cook, The Crime of Julian Wells

“Everyone has at least one talent. It's just that some talents are pointless.”
― Andrea Kneeland, How to Pose for Hustler

“Don’t pointless things have a place, too, in this far-from-perfect world? Remove everything pointless from an imperfect life, and it’d lose even its imperfection.”
― Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

“Odasaku," Dazai said softly. "Forgive me for the absurd wording, but—don't go. Find something to rely on. Expect good things to happen from here on out. There's gotta be something...”
― Kafka Asagiri, 文豪ストレイドッグス 太宰治と黒の時代 [Bungō Stray Dogs - Dazai Osamu to kuro no jidai]

“Le monde n'a pas d'âge. L'humanité se déplace, simplement.

(The world has no age. Humanity simply changes place.)”
― Arthur Rimbaud, A Season in Hell and The Drunken Boat

“I get down on my knees every mornin' an' give eternal thanks for the existence of girls in a otherwise pointless universe.”
― Garth Ennis, Preacher, Volume 7: Salvation

“So they went out for a walk. They went through narrow, lightless lanes, where houses that were silent but gave out smells of fish and boiled rice stood on either side of the road. There was not a single tree in sight; no breeze and no sound but the vaguely musical humming of mosquitoes. Once, an ancient taxi wheezed past, taking a short-cut through the lane into the main road, like a comic vintage car passing through a film-set showing the Twenties into the film-set of the present, passing from black and white into colour. But why did these houses – for instance, that one with the tall, ornate iron gates and a watchman dozing on a stool, which gave the impression that the family had valuables locked away inside, or that other one with the small porch and the painted door, which gave the impression that whenever there was a feast or a wedding all the relatives would be invited, and there would be so many relatives that some of them, probably the young men and women, would be sitting bunched together on the cramped porch because there would be no more space inside, talking eloquently about something that didn’t really require eloquence, laughing uproariously at a joke that wasn’t really very funny, or this next house with an old man relaxing in his easy-chair on the verandah, fanning himself with a local Sunday newspaper, or this small, shabby house with the girl Sandeep glimpsed through a window, sitting in a bare, ill-furnished room, memorising a text by candlelight, repeating suffixes and prefixes from a Bengali grammar over and over to herself – why did these houses seem to suggest that an infinitely interesting story might be woven around them? And yet the story would never be a satisfying one, because the writer, like Sandeep, would be too caught up in jotting down the irrelevances and digressions that make up lives, and the life of a city, rather than a good story – till the reader would shout "Come to the point!" – and there would be no point, except the girl memorising the rules of grammar, the old man in the easy-chair fanning himself, and the house with the small, empty porch which was crowded, paradoxically, with many memories and possibilities. The "real" story, with its beginning, middle and conclusion, would never be told, because it did not exist.”
― Amit Chaudhuri, A Strange and Sublime Address

“Killing "for sport" is the perfect type of that pure evil for which metaphysicians have sometimes sought. Most wicked deeds are done because the doer proposes some good to himself ... [but] the killer for sport has no such comprehensible motive. He prefers death to life, darkness to light. He gets nothing except the satisfaction of saying, "Something that wanted to live is dead. There is that much less vitality, consciousness, and, perhaps, joy in the universe. I am the Spirit that Denies.”
― Joseph Wood Krutch, The Great Chain of Life

“Désormais, la question essentielle n'était plus de savoir ce qu'était la vie, mais de décider de ce qu'il fallait faire de cette vie sans valeur, et pourtant, en quelque sorte, d'un prix unique.”
― Fred Uhlman, L'Ami retrouvé: Refonte

“Your life is pointless, and you are destined to be a sterile, meaningless speck of stardust, but be of good cheer: science will tell you how to power your automobile with pig droppings.”
― Jamie James, The Music of the Spheres