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It is far wiser to ask for a question than an answer. When you think you have all the answers, it simply means you have run out of questions.
My whole life is waiting for the questions to which I have prepared answers.
We have nonbelievers, atheists, intellects, cynicists... all kinds of what-have-yous in here tonight, but all of them want to see that fella in the tights end up with that swan girl, so she'll be able to get out of that lake. Only with the love of one who has never loved before can the spell be broken. Why? Who the hell cares why? Do you think your woman with the feathers is going to ask why? No. She's just going to say thank you because then she can move on and wear nice dresses and go for walks instead of having to peck at soggy bread in a stinky lake every day for the rest of her life.
Thousands of years ago, weren't we capable of building enormous structures like the pyramids? Weren't we capable of worshiping gods, weaving, making fire, finding lovers and wives, sending written messages? Of course we were. But although we've succeeded in replacing slaves with wage slaves, all the advances we've made have been in the field of science. Human beings are still asking the same questions as their ancestors. In short, they haven't evolved at all.
And all these questions I ask myself. It is not in a spirit of curiosity. I cannot be silent. About myself I need know nothing. Here all is clear. No, all is not clear. But the discourse must go on. So one invents obscurities. Rhetoric.
The questions are diamonds you hold in the light. Study a lifetime and you see different colors from the same jewel. The same questions, asked again, bring you just the answers you need just the minute you need them.
I believe everything is one thing only. That said, there are some questions in my life that I don’t know.. I’ve stopped asking. At the very beginning of my life, I wanted to have answers for everything. And now I respect the fact that I can’t have answers for everything.
So for the question I go to the mystery of it and say I don’t know. I only know that I am alive and there is something that manifests in my life, that it is God and one day I am going to understand my life, probably in the day that I die, or afterwards. But I try to find good questions and not good answers.
...all the answers are but waiting for us while we, poor fools, ask questions and wait for the secrets of God to open themselves up to us: when they, all the while, are waiting for us to open ourselves up to them...
Question all as to their ways
and learn the secrets that they hold
With the passage of days in this godly isolation [desert], my heart grew calm. It seemed to fill with answers. I did not ask questions any more; I was certain. Everything - where we came from, where we are going, what our purpose is on earth - struck me as extremely sure and simple in this God-trodden isolation. Little by little my blood took on the godly rhythm. Matins, Divine Liturgy, vespers, psalmodies, the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening, the constellations suspended like chandeliers each night over the monastery: all came and went, came and went in obedience to eternal laws, and drew the blood of man into the same placid rhythm. I saw the world as a tree, a gigantic poplar, and myself as a green leaf clinging to a branch with my slender stalk. When God's wind blew, I hopped and danced, together with the entire tree.
Compassion is the answer to our question. Power is not an answer, but the begging of the question.
Compassion vs. Power.
In life, beginning in infancy, we seek compassion. Yet, we see power all around us, so we are curious. We are offered compassion, but suspect that power is better. So, when power is offered or available for taking, we often forget that compassion is the answer to our question. Power is not an answer, but an endless question.
Moreover, my ancestors' souls are sustained by the atmosphere of the house, since I answer for them the questions that their lives once left behind. I carve out rough answers as best I can. I have even drawn them on the walls. It is as if a silent, greater family, stretching down the centuries, were peopling the house.
Whom can I ask what I came
to make happen in this world?
Why do I move without wanting to,
why am I not able to sit still?
Why do I go rolling without wheels,
flying without wings or feathers,
and why did I decide to migrate
if my bones live in Chile?
For the diseased, what color
do you think April is?
Which occidental monarchy
will fly flags of poppies?
If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our Founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.
It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen; by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the very first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different, that their voice could be that difference.
We're searching for the answers so we can destroy them and dream up better questions.
'Do you know Languages? What's the French for fiddle-de-dee?'
'Fiddle-de-dee's not English,' Alice replied gravely.
'Who ever said it was?' said the Red Queen.
Alice thought she saw a way out of the difficulty this time. 'If you'll tell me what language "fiddle-de-dee" is, I'll tell you the French for it!' she exclaimed triumphantly.
But the Red Queen drew herself up rather stiffly, and said 'Queens never make bargains.'
'I wish Queens never asked questions,' Alice thought to herself.
'And how, who am I? I will remember, if I can! I'm determined to do it!' But being determined didn't help much...
Where do you come from? And where are you going? Look up, speak nicely, and don't twiddle your fingers all the time.
Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle!
'Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?'
'That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat.
'I don't much care where - ' said Alice.
'Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat.
' - so long as I get somewhere,' Alice added as an explanation.
'Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, 'if you only walk long enough.'
This is not a day for asking questions,
not a day on any calendar.
This day is conscious of itself.
This day is a lover, bread, and gentleness,
more manifest than saying can say.
A cucumber is bitter. - Throw it away. -
There briars in the road? - Turn aside from them.
This is enough. Do not add, And why were such things made in the world?
That is the essence of science: ask an impertinent question, and you are on the way to a pertinent answer.
Schooling, instead of encouraging the asking of questions, too often discourages it.
What IS the answer? ...In that case, what is the question?
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