Quotes About Mortality

Whenever I receive death announcements, I consistently notice that a kind of emotion grips me and I feel astonished disbelief. It is as though the departed had passed a difficult examination and achieved something I had not believed him capable of.

I supposed I'd been hit in the heart, but the prospect of death neither hurt nor frightened me. As I fell, I saw the smooth, white pebbles in the muddy road; their arrangement made sense, it was as necessary as that of the stars, and certainly great wisdom was hidden in it. That concerned me, and mattered more than the slaughter that was going on all round me.

Of course, no one is easier to terrorize than the person who believes that everything is over when his fleeting phenomenon is extinguished.

Irgendwie drängt sich auch dem ganz einfachen Gemüt die Ahnung auf, daß sein Leben in einen ewigen Kreislauf geschaltet, und daß der Tod des einzelnen gar kein so bedeutungsvolles Ereignis ist.

We live life merely at its edge: it is but a battlefield where the struggle for life is fought. It is a remote fort, hastily built in the dimension of the citadel into which we shall retreat at death.

Hoy, como siempre, los que no temen a la muerte son infinitamente superiores a los más grandes exponentes de los poderes temporales

Ariosto's: 'A great heart feels no dread of approaching death, whenever it may come, so long as it be honourable.

The man with the wound in the belly, a very young lad, lay in amongst us, stretched out like a cat in the warm rays of the setting sun. He slipped into death with an almost childlike smile on his face. It was a sight that didn't oppress me, but left me with a fraternal feeling for the dying man.

It is easier to go into the battle in the midst of such beauties of nature than when surrounded by a dead and cold winter landscape. Somehow, it comes to one quite simply that one's existence is part of an eternal circuit, and that the death of a single individual is no great matter.

A man dies and his skin loses heat like the sand on a summer evening. It makes you feel like warming him up.

death that tears away clumps of us folks, stuffs thousands of the living, freshly plucked into its sack.

It's disgusting to kill, Laila. You never get rid of death's grease. It doesn't wash away.

The correct translation of the phrase ("Et in Arcadia ego") in its orthodox form is, therefore, not "I, too, was born, or lived, in Arcady," but: "Even in Arcady there am I," from which we must conclude that the speaker is not a deceased Arcadian shepherd or shepherdess but Death in person.

In short, Poussin's Louvre picture no longer shows a dramatic encounter with Death but a contemplative absorption in the idea of mortality. We are confronted with a change from thinly veiled moralism to undisguised elegiac sentiment.

Here the development has run full cycle. To Guercino's "Even in Arcady, there is death" Fragonard's drawing replies: "Even in death, there may be Arcady.

The dead have no compassion for the living.

I'm dying twice as fast as any other American between eighteen and thirty-five This disturbs me, but I try not to show it in public.

There should be an age limit for patients, he thinks as he takes off his shoes. You just have to say to them, "You lived long enough. From now on, think of what's left as a bonus, a gift without an exchange slip. It hurts? Stay in bed. It still hurts? Wait: Either you'll die or it'll pass.

Lots of parents are dying to sacrifice everything for their children," ......... Okay, it's true that, in the end, we'll disappear, but so what? In the end, everyone dies, and your father and me, we won't even die, we'll just fade away.

I think she cried at my funeral. It's not that I'm conceited or anything, but I'm pretty sure. Sometimes I can actually picture her talking about me to some guy she feels close to. Talking about me dying. About how they lowered me into the grave, kind of shrivelled up and pitiful, like an old chocolate bar. About how we never really got a chance. And afterwards the guy fucks her, a fuck that's all about making her feel better.

Tous les chats sont mortels. Socrate est mortel. Donc Socrate est un chat.

Nous ne possédons réellement rien; tout nous traverse.

There are more dead people than living. And their numbers are increasing. The living are getting rarer.

Pela noite adiante, com a morte na algibeira, cada homem procura um rio para dormir, e com os pés na lua ou num grão de areia enrola-se no sono que lhe quer fugir. Cada sonho morre às mãos doutro sonho. Dez-réis de amor foram gastos a esperar. O céu que nos promete um anjo bêbado é um colchão sujo num quinto andar.