Quotes About Mortality

Death is a dialogue between the spirit and the dust

But she and Death, acquainted

In this short life, that only last an hour merely. How much how little is within our power.

Fame is the one that does not stay It's occupant must die Or out of sight of estimate Ascend incessantly Or be that most insolvent thing A Lightning in the Germ Electrical the embryo But we demand the Flame

I died for Beauty—but was scarce Adjusted in the Tomb When One who died for Truth, was lain In an adjoining Room— He questioned softly Why I failed? For Beauty, I replied— And I—for Truth—Themself are One— We Brethren, are, He said— And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night— We talked between the Rooms— Until the Moss had reached our lips— And covered up—Our names—

In this short life that only lasts an hour / How much – how little – is within our power.

death's stiff stare

Life is but life, and death but death! Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!

Was dying as he thought, or different; Was it a pleasant day to die, And did the sunshine face his way?

Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped freight Of a delivered syllable, 'T would crumble with the weight.

Poiché non potevo fermarmi per la Morte, lei gentilmente si fermò per me. La carrozza non portava che noi due, e l'immortalità.

Morii per la bellezza ma ero appena abituata alla tomba che uno che morì per la verità fu deposto in una stanza attigua Mi chiese piano "Perché sei mancata?" "Per la bellezza" risposi "E io per la verità sono una cosa sola noi siamo fratelli" disse Così, come congiunti che si incontrino di notte parlammo fra le stanze finché il muschio raggiunse le nostre labbra e coprì i nostri nomi.

No rack can torture me, My soul's at liberty Behind this mortal bone There knits a bolder one You cannot prick with saw, Nor rend with scymitar. Two bodies therefore be; Bind one, and one will flee. The eagle of his nest No easier divest And gain the sky, Than mayest thou, Except thyself may be Thine enemy; Captivity is consciousness, So's liberty.

I know by now that you can't control your life, no matter how hard you try. That inevitably people leave and disappoint and die. But there is one constant, one thing you can always count on: that not only does love come first, but in the end, it is the only thing that remains.

Why are we so afraid of the body? Is it because it's a mess, unpredictable, mortal, unreliable? We take pains to perfect it, to keep it healthy, but we probably wouldn't go to such extremes if we weren't scared to death to lose it. A paradox: we pretend we don't need it, that it's our minds that matter, and yet the body is the thing we can't ignore and that knocks our thinking minds flat to the floor.

Nacemos solos en nuestra cabeza; vivimos solos allí; morimos solos. Los secretos, pues, a la tumba. Por un momento sentí deseos desesperados de no estar a solas...

Have you seen it...Singin' in the rain, have you seen it? ...His answer was all in his face, scornful and baffled at once. Money makes me ask stupid questions. He wanted it, of course, because someone else didn't have it. Debbie Reynolds dies in the end, I told him.

Really, thought Lib, who ever died exultingly? Whatever fool penned that phrase had never sat by a bed with his ears pricked for the last rasp.) Aged

It was easy to lose a part of your body, it seemed to her; there were so many ways, it was a wonder anybody reached their death intact.

We spend most of our lives holding on to objects, he thought, and finally they fall from our cold dead hands and those who tidy up after us have to worry of what to do with all this stuff.

They used to draw a skull at the bottom of a tankard, so when you'd drained it you'd be reminded you were going to die someday.

You can't be a little bit dead. If you're not in the ground yet, you're one hundred per cent alive.

Then she lifted the breastbone and frontal ribs in one go, the raising of a portcullis. That made me tremble. How frail my own rib cage; how breakable we all were.

Our knowledge of life is limited to death