Quotes About Mortality

Man gives off a special odor: of all the animals, he alone smells of the corpse.

If I used to ask myself, over a coffin: "What good did it do the occupant to be born?", I now put the same question about anyone alive.

I try to oppose the interest I take in her, I imagine her eyes, her cheeks, her nose, her lips in a high state of putrefaction. No help for it: the indefinable element she releases persists. It is in such moments that one understands why life has managed to sustain itself, in spite of Knowledge.

Il semplice fatto di esistere è talmente grave che, a paragone, Dio non è che un mero trastullo.

Everything is unique—and insignificant.

Zi dup? zi, m? târ?sc pe o bucat? de spaÈ›iu, la marginea Universului, în mijlocul unei infinit??i de cuvinte nepronunÈ›ate.

Hiçbir ÅŸey tevazu sahibi yapm?yor insan?, ceset görmek bile.

What does the future, that half of time, matter to the man who is infatuated with eternity?

I try--without success--to stop finding reasons for vanity in anything. When I happen to manage it nonetheless, I feel that I no longer belong to the mortal gang. I am above everything then, above the gods themselves. Perhaps that is what death is: a sensation of great, of extreme superiority.

I was just a tiny part of a huge universe, and nothing really mattered. Every single thing was temporary, and one day all of us would be gone without trace. It was an intensely soothing thought.

Look on the grave where thou must sleep Thy last, and strongest foe; It is endurance not to weep, If that repose seem woe.

There is not room for Death.

You come into the world alone and you go out of the world alone yet it seems to me you are more alone while living than even going and coming.

Life's an awfully lonesome affair. You come into the world alone and you go out of the world alone yet it seems to me you are more alone while living than even going and coming.

Becuase I could not stop for Death He kindly stopped for me The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality

The Dying, is a trifle, pastBut living, this includeThe dying multifold—withoutThe Respite to be dead.

No Rack can torture me—My Soul—at Liberty—Behind this mortal BoneThere knits a bolder One—

Dying! To be afraid of theeOne must to thine ArtilleryHave left exposed a Friend—Than thine old Arrow is a ShotDelivered straighter to the HeartThe leaving Love behind.

It was not Death, for I stood up,And all the Dead, lie down—

Lots of people there seemed to be in denial, in absolute denial, of death - everybody's pretending that death doesn't happen in L.A. if you do enough exercise and take enough wheatgrass and have your pill every day, you might not die.

Man dies, his white bones are dumb without a word When the green pines feel the coming of spring. Looking back, I sigh; looking before, I sigh again. What is there to prize in the life's vaporous glory?

I suppose it may be God's way of telling us to love people while they're here, because tomorrow they may be gone. I guess that's a pretty sorry answer, but I'm afraid it's the only one I've got.

Passion is terrifying, it can rock you, change you, bring your head under, as when a wind rises from the bottom of the sea, and you're out there in the craft of your mortality, alone.

Time is just common, it's like water for a fish. Everybody's in this water, nobody gets out of it, or if he does the same thing happens to him that happens to the fish, he dies. And you know what happens in this water, time? The big fish eat the little fish. That's all. The big fish eat the little fish and the ocean doesn't care.