Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Inhabitable. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Inhabitable Quotes And Sayings by 95 Authors including Sunday Adelaja,Ursula K. Le Guin,Sylvia Earle,Hermann Oberth,David Mitchell for you to enjoy and share.
Everything living on earth is temporary
Outside the locked room is the landscape of time, in which the spirit may, with luck and courage, construct the fragile, makeshift, improbable roads and cities of fidelity: a landscape inhabitable by human beings.
On a sea floor that looks like a sandy mud bottom, that at first glance might appear to be sand and mud, when you look closely and sit there as I do for a while and just wait, all sorts of creatures show themselves, with little heads popping out of the sand. It is a metropolis.
This is the goal: To make available for life every place where life is possible. To make inhabitable all worlds as yet uninhabitable, and all life purposeful.
Only the inanimate can be so alive.
You can live in a house, but your real home is inside you.
Can you be inside and outside at the same time?
I think this is where I live.
I think this is where most women live.
I know this is where writers live.
Inside to write. Outside to glean.
It is nothing short of baffling to me how a city like Melbourne, where I struggle to find accessible facilities on a very regular basis, could be considered the most livable city in the world. I suppose it all depends on what makes a city 'livable' for you.
The furniture and trappings in the apartment are all in a state of flux - here today, gone tomorrow. Nothing is anchored to its place, not even the coffee-pot, which floats off and returns, on the tide of the signora's marine nature.
The body is a community made up of its innumerable cells or inhabitants.
This body is not a home, but an inn; and that only for a short time.
There is no possibility of permanent tenancy on this circling planet. It isn't part of the deal.
There are other places at which ... the laws have said there shall be towns; but Nature has said there shall not, and they remain unworthy of enumeration.
A heap of bricks is not yet a house.
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call Earth.
Glimpses through the clouds of numerous and enormous Second Free Zone residential arks and barges lumbering through their selective tracks like a slow-motion game of hide and seek played by listless, blunt whales.
The place is also big enough. We could all live there without killing each other." -Rhage
"That depends more on your mouth than any floorplan." -Phury
It's not a house, it's a home.
apartment building. "Yeah, it's
A building is not a sentence, which in principle has the ability to match and express a thought closely. It is not linear, like language. Compared to the fluidity of words, a building is atrociously clumsy, but it can be lived and inhabited as books cannot be.
In contrast to the inorganic thereness of lifeless matter, living beings are not mere appearances. To be alive means to be possessed by an urge toward self-display which answers the fact of one's own appearingness. Living things make their appearance like actors on a stage set for them.
The uncluttered arena grants every living thing its unique existence. Including me.
Numerous, and every Starr perhaps a World Of destind habitation; but
You need to live in a dome initially, but over time you could terraform Mars to look like Earth and eventually walk around outside without anything on ... So it's a fixer-upper of a planet.
A Settlement is above all a place for enthusiasms, a spot to which those who have a passion for the equalization of human joys and opportunities are early attracted.
There is no clear distinction anywhere on the Earth's surface between living and nonliving matter. There is merely a hierarchy of intensity going from the 'material' environment of the rocks and the atmosphere to the living cells.
Someone has to make clear to us that homes are not meant to be lived in - but only to be moved out from.
Our home is a belonging place.
Your life must be an open city, with all sorts of ways to wander in.
It takes a heap of living to make a house a home
London is on the whole the most possible form of life.
At least until there are new lakes in the clouds that open upon living cities as yet unknown, and perhaps forever, that is a question which you must answer within your own heart.
Earth is for living only
The door and windows are cut out (from the walls) to form an apartment; but it is on the empty space (within), that its use depends.
Eventually there are going to be cities in space.
But a few understand that building is a great symbol we live in our minds, and existence is the attempt to bring that life into physical reality, to state it in gesture and form. For the man who understands this, a house he owns is a statement of his life.
Everyone is entitled to a home where the sun, the stars, open fields, giant trees, and smiling flowers are free to teach an undisturbed lesson of life.
The earth here is beautiful. And it still belongs to the dead.
Our relation to the natural world takes place in a place.
My place is placeless, a trace of the traceless.
living in a stinking
The Earth is a place. It is by no means the only place. It is not even a typical place.
Everything and everyone has a place to be, Echo. It's just a matter of how they get there and when. You have a place; you just have to find it.
furnished, but by no means decorated,
Now is the dwelling place of God himself.
A house is not a machine to live in. It is the shell of man, his extension, his release, his spiritual emanation.
We live on a little island of the articulable, which we tend to mistake for reality itself.
Your home is living space, not storage space.
You think somebody built those towers and structures and then just left? This whole planet is a murder scene. An empty apartment with warm food on the table and all the clothes still in the closets. This is some Croatoan shit." "The
All rooms ought to look as if they were lived in, and to have so to say, a friendly welcome ready for the incomer.
A house is not a home.
We live in our own souls as in an unmapped region, a few acres of which we have cleared for our habitation; while of the nature of those nearest us we know but the boundaries that march with ours.
Any place could be a cage. And maybe, with the right person, any place could be a home.
I could live here, I think. Live where gravity does not know my name. Here I am unbound, untethered by the chains of this life. I am a different body, a different shell, and my weight is carried by the hands of friends. So many nights I've wished I could fall asleep under this sheet.
The space itself, your home, naturally has a message and intention.
With spots of sunny openings, and with nooks To lie and read in, sloping into brooks.
Our public spaces are as profound as we allow them to be,
To write about a place, you have to live there.
The natural environment of humans - space stations, ships, constructed habitats.
The place where you live - your home - is one of the most important things in a body's life.
A mobile home with a flat tire is a home.
A real building is one on which the eye can light and stay lit.
Occupied people are not unhappy people.
Say this city has ten million souls, Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes: Yet there's no place for us, my dear, yet there's no place for us.
We can't terraform yet, but we know it exists.
It is all but inevitable that we occupy a favoured location, one of the rare neighbourhoods where by-laws allow the emergence of intelligent life.' No anthropic principle needed.
My object is merely to give the reader a general introduction into an abode where, if so disposed, he may linger and loiter with me day by day until we gradually become familiar with all its localities.
We occupy a space of our own creation-a collage compounded by bits and pieces of actuality arranged into a design determined by our internal perceptions, our hopes, our fears, our memories, and our anticipations.
Oh, I would like to live in an empty house, with vines for walls, and a carpet of grass. No planks, no plastic, no fiberglass.
Houses, housetops, like human beings have wonderful character. The lives of housetops. The wear of the seasons. The country is beautiful, young, growing things. The majesty of trees. The backs of tenement houses are living documents.
In New York, the buildings are like mountains in some ways, but they are only alive because of the people living in them. Real mountains are alive all over.
Through no divine design or cosmic plan, we have inherited the mantle of life's caretaker on the earth, the only home we have ever known.
To fully understand how utterly amazing we really are we must first understand all of the things about us that are not, and then we must make our habitation where they are not.
This is a forsaken place ... I can think of no use for a place like this, except that you could say of it: I saw the heart of nothing, and survived.
We inhabit, we are part of, a reality for which explanation is much too poor and small.
However convenient this dwelling, we cannot remain here.
Human beings always have and always will seek havens where we are free to be productive and to keep the property we create.
The land is like poetry: it is inexplicably coherent, it is transcendent in its meaning, and it has the power to elevate a consideration of human life.
Many writers today are wanderers. There is not only an unhousedness in language - how to convey, to say nothing of converge - but an unhousedness of place.
We shape our dwellings and afterwards our dwellings shape us.
In truth, there is enormous space in which to live our everyday lives.
Everything here is alive thanks to the living of everything else.
English is a curiously expressive language. Womb, room, tomb. It sums up living in three words.
We made safe places in the apartment where you could go and not exist.
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space.
If it's softer than the ground and has a roof over it, I call it a bed. Dolorous Edd sniffed the air. I smell dung.
The world is a big place," he said, "but so is the inside of an apartment!
It's an old place, but it sings in the darkness and is, in its own quirky little way, alive. It's home.
How strange and wonderful is our home, our earth, with its swirling vaporous atmosphere, its flowing and frozen liquids, its trembling plants, its creeping, crawling, climbing creatures, the croaking things with wings that hang on rocks and soar through the fog, the furry grass, the scaly seas.
It was remarkable to see from space how predictable people are. Our homes and towns are almost all in places with moderate temperatures, and they generally have the same shape - a thinly occupied outer blob of suburb surrounding a densely populated core, all based around a ready source of water.
The apartment is an oasis - of civility, kindness, and elegance.
A house inside the nature is a nature inside the house!
The outer world, from which we cower into our houses, seemed after all a gentle habitable place; and night after night a man's bed, it seemed, was laid and waiting for him in the fields, where God keeps an open house.
Life abides between life as if it were an island amidst its own ocean
Above us our palace waits, the only one I've ever needed. Its walls are space, its floor is sky, its center everywhere. We rise; the shapes cluster around us in welcome, dissolving and forming again like fireflies in a summer evening.
Mars, therefore, is not only uninhabited by intelligent beings such as Mr. Lowell postulates, but is absolutely uninhabitable.
Wherever we are we have the capacity to enjoy the sunshine, the presence of each other and the wonder of our breathing.
Our relationship with places is a close bond, intricate in nature, and not abstract, not remote at all: It's enveloping, almost a continuum with all we are and think.
My home is not a place; it's people.
There's something about hospital walls; though only made of bricks and plaster, when you're inside them the noise, the reality of the teeming city beyond, disappears; it's just outside the door, but it might as well be a magical land far, far away.