Quotes About Mortality

They had chopped wood here too; then they were gone. Gone to the fields, the small towns, the cities – where they died. There was always news coming back to the quarter about someone who had been killed or who had been sent to prison for killing someone else: Snowball, stabbed to death in a nightclub in Port Allen; Claudee, killed by a woman in New Orleans; Smitty, sent to the state penitentiary for manslaughter. And there were others who did not go anywhere but simply died slower

My good friend the Governor said I could settle down at Port Stanley and take things quietly for a few weeks. The street of that port is about a mile and a half long. It has the slaughterhouse at one end and the graveyard at the other. The chief distraction is to walk from the slaughterhouse to the graveyard. For a change one may walk from the graveyard to the slaughterhouse.

Und könnte [das Ich] eine Leere, eine Losgelassenheit, eine disparate, gar absurde Schranke auch noch spüren, wenn keine Bewegung in ihm wäre, die an die Schranke stößt? […] Die Akte des Überschreitens selber lassen sich jedenfalls nicht nihilisieren, nicht einmal dort, wo die härteste Gegenutopie: der Tod jedes irdische Dunkel so unermesslich überbietet, unterbietet.

An infant, in his first sleepiness, must let go of the world; a man must learn to die. What comes between are the grains of sand. Ambition. Loss. Envy. Desire. Hatred. Love. Tenderness. Joy. Shame. Loneliness. Ecstasy. Ache. Surrender.

Does one grow wise in increments? By fractioning a life and then summing it? By stacking sand? An infant, in his first sleepiness, must let go of the world; a man must learn to die. What comes between are the grains of sand. Ambition. Loss. Envy. Desire. Hatred. Love. Tenderness. Joy. Shame. Loneliness. Ecstasy. Ache. Surrender. Live long enough and you will solve them all.

Everything that's happening, is happening inside the self. And whatever the self is, it is not William Harding the movie actor or the adulterer. Whatever the self is will not die when your body has worms crawling through your eye sockets.

Cochise : – We have fought long and as best we could against you. We have killed ten White Eyes for every Apache, but when one white man dies, many take his place. When one Apache dies, there is no one to take his place. We were no longer Indah , the living . We were now Indeh ... the dead .

Je préfère la vie à la mort, exister à ne pas exister, car je ne suis pas sûr d'être une fois que je n'existerai plus

Je meurs, vous entendez, je veux dire que je meurs, je n'arrive pas à le dire, je ne fais que de la littérature.

Zaci pe caldarîm,în strad?... E lume mult?.ToÈ›i se gr?besc.ÎÈ™i închipuie c? au o È›int?,nu È™tiu cu adev?rat încotro se duc.Strigi.Se dau de-o parte ca s? nu te calce în picioare,c?ci nu sunt cruzi,sunt doar nep?s?tori.ÎÈ™i poart? în ei propria moarte,nu o pot purta pe a ta..

I can't stick it. Perhaps it's my liver. I feel I've aged. Of course, I'm not exactly young any more. Still, to feel like this . .

Man in fact is petty: the problem of death is a human problem. A cow doesn't think about death. A cow isn't petty

Les morts sont plus nombreux que les vivants. Leur nombre augemente. Les vivants sont rares.

Dicen que existe la paz en los verdes campos del Edén. Hay que morirse para averiguarlo.

No creáis nunca que los opulentos son dichosos hasta no llegar su última hora.

No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow.

They'd put the anesthesia mask on him, and the next instant he was in the recovery room. It was a blackout so complete, it made him doubt the immortality of the soul.

When he did speak, Mike still didn't answer me. He just said, "Life's funny, chucklehead. You only get one and you don't want to throw it away. But you can't really live it at all unless you're willing to give it up for the things you love. If you're not at least willing to die for something— something that really matters—in the end you die for nothing.

The worst thing you can be in this job is partial, invested. You just have to get good at turning that off. You have to see the bodies as bodies, not as people. They were people once, of course, fuelled by food and water, driven by electrical impulses. But then, for whatever reason, the power got turned off. The lights went out. They were transformed into meat.

Our lives aren't worth dying over.

Then worms shall tryThat long preserved virginity,And your quaint honor turn to dust,And into ashes all my lust.The grave's a fine and private place,But none, I think, do there embrace.

But at my back I always hearTime's winged chariot hurrying near;And yonder all before us lieDeserts of vast eternity.

But at my back I always hear Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near

The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.