Quotes About Oblivion

I am disappearing maybe I am already gone.

There was George, throwing away in hideous sloth the inestimable gift of time; his valuable life, every second of which he would have to account for hereafter, passing away from him, unused.... sprawling there, sunk in soul-clogging oblivion.

The old man sang for a while, and Mora felt in her head the beginning of a long siege. A wilderness had crept up around a walled town, and the darkness of old woods and far-off places began to grow then, even within sight of where men walked together. By this she meant in her heart that all the useless things one remembers well just before waking and forgets just after were in fact very important and perhaps all that stood now between herself and oblivion.

Housework is a treadmill from futility to oblivion with stop-offs at tedium and counter productivity.

He has no doubts, there is nothing you can say to sway him, to give him hope or trust. He is a miserable animal whose body decays, who will die, who will pass into dust and oblivion, disappear forever not only in this world but in all the possible dimensions of the universe, whose life serves no conceivable purpose, who may as well not have been born, and so on and so forth.

When I disappear, I will disappear; there'll be nothing left.

There's people who'd expect you to take a bullet for them and they don't bother rememb'ring yuh name.

Young people err through ignorance; but older people err through oblivion to dramatic but simple truths, learned and forgotten a hundred times. The ignorance of the young has the inviting vacancy of the outdoors; but the oblivion of the old is a noxious void behind a sneer of wisdom.

What a man can't remember doesn't exist for him.

Evil is a kind of oblivion, having destroyed everything on its way there.

I hadn't thought of evil as being without color but it is. Once you get past plain everyday wickedness, the color is squeezed right out of it. Evil is a kind of oblivion, having destroyed everything on its way there.

Everybody knows what's going on, she thought, but nobody knows where it's headed. And soon nobody will remember what the point was.

Death is always death, that is oblivion, resting, absence of life, as well as pain.

The way to leave this life, I always say: some sudden, cataclysmic disaster and whoosh, you're propelled into the next world—or oblivion. One might take one's pick.

The stunned knight came upon a field Where nothing lived, just scattered skulls and bones. What battle had been fought, what did it yield? No one remembers why the screams and groans. Why are you mute field? Why overgrown with grasses of oblivion?

By putting a border line between life and death, we separate the world of death from our world of life, casting the dead away into the "world of oblivion".

All my life, as down an abyss without a bottom. I have been pouring van loads of information into that vacancy of oblivion I call my mind.

As he claimed the right to enjoy the literature of any period for the joy that was in it, so he claimed the liberty to profit from the insights of every generation open to his study. He would have been ashamed to know nothing of what was being said, written or done in his own day; but he felt under no obligation to find it better than the products of previous time, and especially than those which had passed the sieve of old oblivion.

She immediately withdrew from the casement, and, though much agitated, sought in sleep the refreshment of a short oblivion.

He never asks for endearment, all quiet, Only gazes at me all the time, And he bears with a blissful smile This distressing oblivion of mine.

Sono un recipiente di ricordi in un mondo che è dimenticanza.

What magic was this, brewed from equal parts of age-old memories and total oblivion. One could have believed that the last war these people had fought had left only happy memories, had carried in its wake nothing but joy and prosperity. Women and girls were smiling as if their sons and lovers were invulnerable.

O Time the fatal wrack of mortal things, That draws oblivion's curtains over kings; Their sumptuous monuments, men know them not, Their names without a record are forgot, Their parts, their ports, their pomps all laid in th' dust Nor wit nor gold, nor buildings scape time's rust; But he whose name is graved in the white stone Shall last and shine when all of these are gone.

Depression is one of the unknown modes of being. There are no words for a world without a self, seen with impersonal clarity. All language can register is the slow return to oblivion we call health when imagination automatically recolors the landscape and habit blurs perception and language takes up its routine flourishes.