Quotes About Mortality

Nothing stays or holds or keeps where there is growth, he somehow perceived vaguely but truly. Great Caesar dead and turned to clay stopped no hole to keep the wind away. Dead Caesar was nothing but a tiresome bit of print in a book that schoolboys study for awhile and then forget. The Ambersons had passed, and the new people would pass, and the new people that came after them, and then the next new ones, and the next—and the next—

Once I am dead, there will be no lack of pious hands to throw me over the railing; my grave will be the fathomless air; my body will sink endlessly and decay and dissolve in the wind generated by the fall, which is infinite.

Manuel Flores va a morir,/ eso es moneda corriente;/ morir es una costumbre/ que sabe tener la gente.

He realised, more vividly than ever before, that art had two constant, two unending preoccupations: it is always meditating upon death and it is always thereby creating life.

There is nothing to fear. There is no such thing as death. Death has nothing to do with us. But you said something about being talented--- that it makes one different. Now, that does have something to do with us. And talent in the highest and broadest sense means talent for life.

Now, as never before, it was clear to him that art is always, ceaselessly, occupied with two things. It constantly reflects on death and thereby constantly creates life.

Quando um homem pertence a um tipo determinado é porque está morto, condenado. E se ele não pertence a nenhuma das categorias catalogadas, se não é representativo de nenhuma, então tem já metade das qualidades que dele deveremos exigir: libertou-se de si mesmo, detém uma parcela da imortalidade.

The point is, as death gets closer - what's so wrong with wanting someone you love to live forever?

Just because you're not dead doesn't mean you're alive.

Is this what it all comes to? I wondered. Is this how it is supposed to turn out? You have your accidents, your broken bones and diseases, and then there is a strange hairiness that overtakes you and pretty soon you're dead, put in a wooden box and buried under a pile of dirt?

To die, to be really dead, that must be glorious!

She was young and very beautiful, but pale, like the grey pallor of death.

I ain't afraid of dyin', not a bit, only I don't want to die if I can help it.

They say that people who are near death die generally at the change to dawn or at the turn of the tide.

This is no jest, but life and death, perhaps more.

And she was quite tolerable to look at, you say?" said Mr Lascelles. "You never saw her?" said Drawlight. "Oh! she was a heavenly creature. Quite divine. An angel." "Indeed? And such a pinched-looking ruin of a thing now! I shall advise all the good-looking women of my acquaintance not to die," said Mr Lascelles.

she bore so many of the signs and disfigurings of extreme old age that she was losing her resemblance to other human beings and began instead to resemble other orders of living creatures. Her arms lay in her lap, so extravagantly spotted with brown that they were like two fish. Her skin was the white, almost transparent skin of the extremely old, as fine and wrinkled as a spider's web, with veins of knotted blue.

At the last moment the albatross swung over my left shoulder. I fell to the Pavement. He flapped his wings in a frantic, panicked sort of way, stuck out his wiry pink legs and tumbled out of the Air into a sort of heap on the Pavement. In the Air he was a miraculous being – a Heavenly Being – but on the Stones of the Pavement he was mortal and subject to the same embarrassments and clumsiness as other mortals.

Anl?yor musun? Böyledir bu dünya, yaÅŸam cömertlik ister: Ä°nsan?n kendi içindeki karekteri yetiÅŸtirmesi, ama bunu yaparken de çevredeki hiçbir ÅŸeyi alg?lamamas?, hâlâ soluk alsa da ölü olmaya benzer.

I know one thing about men, Bunny says with finality, leaving the room to check on A. They never die when you want them to.

When King Lear dies in act five, do you know what Shakespeare has written? He has written, 'He dies.' No more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential piece of dramatic literature is, 'He dies.' Now I am not asking you to be happy at my leaving but all I ask you to do is to turn the page and let the next story begin. -- Mr. Magorium

And if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple and modest He died.

Becoming aware of fragility, of temporality, of the fact that we will surely all be lost to one another, sooner or later, mandates a clear imperative to be totally kind and loving to each other always [p.119].

So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.