Daniel Barenboim Quotes

Out of nothing can come, and nothing can become nothing.

think of nothing things think of wind

In the beginning, there was noise. Noise begat rhythm, and rhythm begat everything else.

All things in the world come from being. And being comes from non-being.

The majority of the world is empty space. Empty space, empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people - it's all empty space. That's amazing!

All that remains is was.

Nothingness is not nothing at all, so it is physical, but not in the sense of constant presence. Nothingness is disturbing. It is there in a mind-independent sense; it is part of what is given.

For the listener, who listens in the snow, / And, nothing himself, beholds / Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Almost everything comes from almost nothing.

Each something is a celebration of the nothing that supports it.

Good and bad, happy and sad, all thoughts vanish into emptiness like the imprint of a bird in the sky.

And consider: it is loss to which everything flows, absence in which everything flowers

Strange: how when a light is extinguished, it's immediately as if it has never been. Darkness fills in again, complete.

There's no lack of void.

Things are all made from nothing; hence their true source is nothing.

There is no such thing as an empty space or an empty time. There is always something to see, something to hear. In fact, try as we may to make a silence, we cannot.

Nothingness not being nothing, nothingness being emptiness.

Nothing can come of nothing.

The world is chaos. Nothingness is the yet-to-be-born god of the world.

Afterlife, in my mind, is pretty much nothing. This is it. This is what we get, for me.

What happens to the hole when the cheese is gone?

Life has become the ideology of its own absence.

But to me nothing - the negative, the empty - is exceedingly powerful.

Men and women, empires and cities, thrones, principalities, and powers, mountains, rivers, and unfathomed seas, worlds, spaces, and universes, all have their day, and all must go.

An intimate core of my being recognizes that there is nothing in me that can go on: there is no spark; there is no infestation of vaporous miasma that has the capacity to continue, and there is nothing in me that wishes to continue. This moment is, for me, all that there is, and I'm willing to accept it. I'm a worm; I have no soul.