Quotes About Mortality

People die, sure . . . but it's heartbreaking and unnecessary how we lose things. From pure carelessness.

Even the tiniest things mean something. Whenever you see flies or insects in a still life—a wilted petal, a black spot on the apple—the painter is giving you a secret message. He's telling you that living things don't last—it's all temporary. Death in life. That's why they're called natures mortes. Maybe you don't see it at first with all the beauty and bloom, the little speck of rot. But if you look closer—there it is.

belki onun tepkisi de benimki gibi olur, diyordum içimden. belki bütün bu cinayetleri asl?nda olduÄŸu gibi bencilce yap?lm?? bir kötülük olarak görmek yerine kötü, ac?kl? ve hatta pitoresk bir vahÅŸet olarak görürdü. (''ben hayatta her ÅŸeyi yapt?m,'' diye böbürlenmez miydi yaÅŸl? tolstoy, ''bir adam bile öldürdüm.'')

living things don't last—it's all temporary. Death in life. That's why they're called natures mortes. Maybe you don't see it at first with all the beauty and bloom, the little speck of rot. But if you look closer—there it is.

V. We have art in order not to die from the truth. —NIETZSCHE

meaning Death) always wins but that doesn't mean we have to bow and grovel to it. That maybe even if we're not

Could it be because it reminds us that we are alive, of our mortality, of our individual souls – which, after all, we are too afraid to surrender but yet make us feel more miserable than any other thing? But isn't it also pain that often makes us most aware of self? Our own selves make us most unhappy, and that's why we're so anxious to lose them, don't you think?

It was an obscure specialization, but the candlelit and treacherous universe in which they moved - of sin unpunished, of innocence destroyed - was one I found appealing. Even the titles of their plays were strangely seductive, trapdoors to something beautiful and wicked that trickled beneath the surface of mortality: The Malcontent. The White Devil. The Broken Heart.

That life—whatever else it is—is short. That fate is

Eso era el cuerpo: falible, sujeto a achaques. Enfermedad, dolor. ¿Por qué la gente se acaloraba tanto sobre ello?

A teahouse amid the cherry blossoms, on the way to death. p136

Flapping crows. Shiny beetles crawling in the undergrowth. A patch of sky, frozen in a cloudy retina, reflected in a puddle on the ground. Yoo-hoo. Being and nothingness

Does such a thing as "the fatal flaw," that showy dark crack running down the middle of a life, exist outside literature

They want it all as detailed as possible because even the tiniest things mean something. Whenever you see flies or insects in a still life -- a wilted petal, a black spot on the apple -- the painter is giving you a secret message. He's telling you that living things don't last -- it's all temporary. Death in life. That's why they're called natures mortes. Maybe you don't see it at first with all the beauty and bloom, the little speck of rot. But if you look closer -- there it is.

Why does that obstinate little voice in our heads torment us so?' he said, looking round the table. 'Could it be because it reminds us that we are alive, of our mortality, of our individual souls - which, after all, we are too afraid to surrender but yet make us feel more miserable than any other thing? But isn't it also pain that often makes us most aware of self?

la vita è breve. Che il destino è crudele ma forse non casuale. Che la Natura (intesa come Morte) vince sempre, ma questo non significa che dobbiamo inchinarci e prostrarci al suo cospetto. Che forse anche se non siamo sempre contenti di essere qui, è nostro compito immergerci comunque: entrarci, attraversare questa fogna, con gli occhi e il cuore ben aperti.

Life is temporary, but you are eternal.

The only question now," he said, "is which corpse gets the most flowers.

Death had brushed hard against him

We have but a short life to live here my dear friend. But let us make it long by noble deeds.

I can't say I'm overwhelmed with surprise. I'm 88 years old and they can't give the Nobel to someone who's dead, so I think they were probably thinking they'd probably better give it to me now before I've popped off.

SLEEP, for you are not yet dead.

scarcely born, and then adult, and then old, and then dead.

There is a place where we are always alone with our own mortality, where we must simply have something greater than ourselves to hold onto—God or history or politics or literature or a belief in the healing power of love, or even righteous anger.... A reason to believe, a way to take the world by the throat and insist that there is more to this life than we have ever imagined.