Quotes About Mortality

In America, my initial impression was that death or the possibility of it always seemed to come as a surprise, as if we took it for granted that we were immortal, and that death was just an option.

As she bent over the child she realized that the tragedy of death had to do entirely with what was left unfulfilled. She was ashamed that such a simple insight should have eluded her all these years. Make something beautiful of your life.

Easiest thing in the world is to love a dying man.

is Ã¢â'¬Â¦ clean living will kill you, my friend.

Be ready. Be seated. See what courage sounds like. See how brave it is to reveal yourself in this way. But above all, see what it is to still live, to profoundly influence the lives of others after you are gone, by your words.

Departure or imminent death will force you to define your true tastes.

the retrospectoscope, that handy tool of the wags and pundits, the conveners of the farce we call M&M—morbidity and mortality conference—will pronounce your decision right or wrong. Life, too, is like that.

What did it matter? We are dying while we are living. We are old even when we're young. We are clinging to life even as we resign ourselves to leaving it.

The valley below, the rock underfoot, and the mountain before him will outlast him. On the scale of this land, he is nothing; words like "shame" and "guilt" mean little here; and a reputation is no more than a fleeting blue flame, an evanescent spirit in a brandy glass.

we are merely renting these bodies of ours. You came into this world on an in breath. You will exit on an out breath. Hence, we say that someone has . . . ? 'Expired'!

Cursed is the man who dies, but the evil done by him survives.

Have an earnestness for death and you will have life.

I remembered what had been circling in me: I am beautiful. I am full of love. I am dying.

It wasn't until later, when I moved in with him and stood outside on our patchy imperfect lawn, that I remembered what had been circling in me: I am beautiful. I am full of love. I am dying.

Perhaps we are hurtling our bodies towards the thing that will obliterate us, begging for love from the speeding passage of time...

I am beautiful. I am full of love. I am dying.

The day I turned sixteen years old I had no idea that in a few weeks nearly everyone I cared about would be dead.

Yet human intelligence has another force, too: the sense of urgency that gives human smarts their drive. Perhaps our intelligence is not just ended by our mortality; to a great degree, it is our mortality.

We live among the dead until we join them,

We ward off love because it presents itself to us as a demand: to acknowledge another person's needs, and thus our own; to glimpse their mortality, and thus ours. We each have our own means of achieving this avoidance.

And you could always tell ginger plants whose tap root had penetrated a corpse: the blooms were large, iridescent yellow, and it was hard to jerk loose a plant whose roots had hooked a rib below.

Serce usta?o, pier? ju? lodowata, ?ci??y si? usta i oczy zawar?y; Na ?wiecie jeszcze, lecz ju? nie dla ?wiata! Có? to za cz?owiek? - Umar?y.

As the generation of leaves, so too is the generation of men. And as for leaves, the winds scatter some on the earth, But the new wood puts forth others, and spring comes again. So it is with men: as one generation is born, another dies.

The average person has the most fear of death and in reality thinks most rarely about it. The most prominent one occupies himself with it most persistently, but nevertheless fears it the least. The one lives blindly day to day, sinning away, only to sink down before the grim reaper. The other carefully observes his approach but then looks him in the eye, calm and composed.