Quotes About Mortality

O sin, how you paint your face! How you flatter us poor mortals on to death! You never appear to the sinner in your true character; you make fair promises, but you never fulfil one; your tongue is smoother than oil, but the poison of asps is under your lip!

Make another failure like that ... and you'll be immortal.

I was thinking, listlessly, is this what it means to be happy? But now I feel it in my gut. Why is it we have so little choice? We live like the lowliest worms. Always defeated – defeated we make dinner, we eat, we sleep. Everyone we love is dying. Still, to cease living is unacceptable.

No matter what, I want to continue living with the awareness that I will die. Without that, I am not alive. That is what makes the life I have now possible. Inching one's way along a steep cliff in the dark: on reaching the highway, one breathes a sigh of relief. Just when one can't take any more, one sees the moonlight. Beauty that seems to infuse itself into the heart: I know about that.

We live like the lowliest worms. Always defeated - defeated we make dinner, we eat, we sleep. Everyone we love is dying. Still, to cease living is unacceptable.

Alguna vez, sin falta, todos iremos dispersándonos en la oscuridad del tiempo y desapareceremos...

Quiero seguir sintiendo a toda costa que algún día he de morir. De otro modo, no sentiría que estoy viviendo. Por eso, mi vida es así.

Aunque seamos derrotados como gusanos, hacemos la comida, comemos y dormimos. Todas las personas que amamos mueren una tras otra. Y, a pesar de ello, tenemos que seguir viviendo.

Someday, without fail, everyone will disappear, scattered into the blackness of time.

Everyone we love is dying. Still, to cease living is unacceptable.

No matter what, I want to continue living with the awareness that I will die. Without that, I am not alive. That is what makes the life I have now possible.

Voglio assolutamente continuare a sentire che un giorno morirò. Altrimenti non mi accorgo che vivo. Per questo è così la mia vita.

The space that cannot be filled, no matter how cheerfully a child and an old person are living together—the deathly silence that, panting in a corner of the room, pushes its way in like a shudder. I felt it very early, although no one told me about it.

When was it I realised that, on this truly dark & solitary path we all walk, the only way we can light is our own? Although I was raised with love, I was always lonely. Someday without fail, everyone will disappear, scattered into the blackness of time. I've always lived with that knowledge rooted in my being.

Why is it that we have so little choice? We live like the lowliest worms. Always defeated--defeated we make dinner, we eat, we sleep. Everyone we love is dying. Still, to cease living is unacceptable.

Why is it we have so little choice? We live like the lowliest worms. Always defeated - defeated we make dinner, we eat, we sleep. Everyone we love is dying. Still, to cease living is unacceptable.

Did anyone ever imagine, back in the old days, that eventually a day would come when people and their brains would each die a separate death?

No matter what, I want to continue living with the awareness that I will die. Without that, I am not alive.

When was it I realized that, on this truly dark and solitary path we all walk, the only way we can light is our own? Although I was raised with love, I was always lonely. Someday, without fail, everyone will disappear, scattered into the blackness of time.

Why is it we have so little choice? We live like the lowliest worms. Always defeated - defeated we make dinner, we eat, we sleep. Everyone we love is dying. Sill, to cease living is unacceptable.

What is any achievement, however great it was, once time itself is dead?

They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time

I mean, they say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.

He comes to them in disguise, tricks himself out as a bull, an eagle, a swan, or, as in the present case, a husband, and thinks to make them love him--him, that is, and not what or who he is pretending to be, as if he were a mortal just like them. Ah, yes, love, what they call love, it drives him to distraction, for it is one of that pair of things our kind may not experience, the other being, obviously, death.