Quotes About Mortality

O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low?Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,Shrunk to this little measure?

And so, from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,And then from hour to hour we rot and rot,And thereby hangs a tale.

We cannot hold mortality's strong hand.

For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

Now boast thee, death, in thy possession liesA lass unparallel'd.

Falstaff sweats to deathAnd lards the lean earth as he walks along.

Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly?

Death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall die.

Thou know'st 'tis common; all that live must die,Passing through nature to eternity.

I have more flesh than another man, and therefore more frailty.

What should such fellows as I do crawling between heaven and earth? We are arrant knaves, all.

Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high,Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.

If it were now to die,'Twere now to be most happy.

Tut, tut, good enough to toss; food for powder, food for powder; they'll fill a pit as well as better.

If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere wellIt were done quickly; if the assassinationCould trammel up the consequence, and catchWith his surcease success; that but this blowMight be the be-all and the end-all here,But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,We'd jump the life to come.

O proud death!What feast is toward in thine eternal cell?

Fear no more the heat o' the sun,Nor the furious winter's rages;Thou thy worldly task hast done,Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages;Golden lads and girls all must,As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

The valiant never taste of death but once.

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defacedThe rich proud cost of outworn buried age,When sometime lofty towers I see down-rasedAnd brass eternal slave to mortal rage;When I have seen the hungry ocean gainAdvantage on the kingdom of the shore,And the firm soil win of the wat'ry main,Increasing store with loss and loss with store.

Had I but died an hour before this chanceI had liv'd a blessed time; for, from this instant,There's nothing serious in mortality,All is but toys; renown and grace is dead,The wine of life is drawn, and the mere leesIs left this vault to brag of.

Death is a fearful thing.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;For now hath time made me his numbering clock:My thoughts are minutes.

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

That time of year thou mayst in me beholdWhen yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hangUpon those boughs which shake against the cold,Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.