A time when time was not Darkness cannot say: “I precede the coming light”, but there is a sense in which light can say, “Darkness preceded me”. Doubtless there is an event, X, in the future, by reference to which we may say that we are at present in a category of Not-X, but until X occurs, the category of Not-X is without reality. Only X can give reality to Not-X; that is to say, Not-Being depends for its reality upon Being. In this way we may faintly see how the creation of Time may be said automatically to create a time when Time was not, and how the Being of God can be said to create a Not-Being that is not God. Dorothy Sayers, The Mind of the Maker darknesslighttimebeing
Thin ice Today the 'depth of our being' stands on thin ice. Juhani Pallasmaa, The Eyes of the Skin: Architecture and the Senses coldbeing
The utter nothingness of being Everything written symbols can say has already passed by. They are like tracks left by animals. That is why the masters of meditation refuse to accept that writings are final. The aim is to reach true being by means of those tracks, those letters, those signs - but reality itself is not a sign, and it leaves no tracks. It doesn’t come to us by way of letters or words. We can go toward it, by following those words and letters back to what they came from. But so long as we are preoccupied with symbols, theories and opinions, we will fail to reach the principle. "But when we give up symbols and opinions, aren’t we left in the utter nothingness of being?" Yes. Kimura Kyūho, On the Mysteries of Swordsmanship The Elements of Typographic Style zenmeaningsymbolsbeingreality
What will be has always been A Quote by Louis Kahn understandinggroup.com Ruins, Rub-outs, and Trash timebeing
And thus the heart will break They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, mourn: The tree will wither long before it fall: The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn; The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall In massy hoariness; the ruined wall Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone; The bars survive the captive they enthral; The day drags through though storms keep out the sun; And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on. Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage SceneryA little act of hope timelovemelancholyi