Quotes About Mortality

I think I could die without its being noticed.

The end of everything was at hand; it seemed to him he could stretch out his arm and touch the goal. But he wanted to die at home — to extend himself in the large quiet room where he had last seen his father lie, and close his eyes upon the summer dawn.

Should you positively like to live here? I think I should like, said poor Milly after an instant, to die here.

She wished to say everything; she was afraid he might die before she had done so.

I'm afraid I'm too ill." "Too ill to tell me?" it sprang up sharp to him, and almost to his lips, the fear she might die without giving him light.

I'm delirious because I'm dying so fast.

The cancer of time is eating us away

the world is the mirror of myself dying.

The world around me is dissolving leaving here and there spots of time. The world is a cancer eating itself away.

At that moment I rejoiced that I was free of possessions, free of all·ties, free of fear and envy and malice. I could have passed quietly from one dream to another, owning nothing, regretting nothing, wishing nothing. I was never more certain that life and death are one and that neither can be enjoyed or embraced if the other be absent.

The world of men and women are making merry in the cemetery grounds. They are having sexual intercourse, God bless them, and I am alone in the Land of Fuck.

If men cease to believe that they will one day become gods then they will surely become worms.

No matter where you go, no matter what you touch, there is cancer and syphilis. It is written in the sky; it flames and dances, like an evil portent. It has eaten into our souls and we are nothing but a dead thing like the moon.

Who am I? What am I doing here? I fall between the cold walls of human malevolence, a white figure fluttering, sinking down through the cold lake, a mountain of skulls above me. I settle down to the cold latitudes, the chalk steps washed with indigo. The earth in its dark corridors knows my step, feels a foot abroad, a wing stirring, a gasp and a shudder.

He wakes up utterly bored and discomfited, chagrined to think that he did not die overnight.

One is ejected into the world like a dirty little mummy; the roads are slippery with blood and no one knows why it should be so. Each one is traveling his own way and, though the earth be rotting with good things, there is no time to pluck the fruits; the procession scrambles toward the exit sign, and such a panic is there, such a sweat to escape, that the weak and the helpless are trampled into the mud and their cries are unheard.

It has been that way ever since the Greeks—a blind fuck in the mud and then a quick spawn and then death.

No existe una diferencia fundamental, inalterable entre las cosas: todo es flujo, todo es perecedero. La superficie de tu ser está desintegrándose constantemente; sin embargo, por dentro te vuelves duro como un diamante. Y quizá sea ese núcleo duro, magnético, dentro de ti lo que atrae a los otros hacia ti de buen o mal grado. Una cosa es segura: que cuando mueres y resucitas, perteneces a la tierra y lo que quiera que sea de la tierra es tuyo inalienablemente.

Kesin olan tek ÅŸey ÅŸudur: öldüÄŸünde ve dirildiÄŸinde topraÄŸa aitsindir ve topraÄŸa dair ne varsa devredilemez bir biçimde senindir. DoÄŸan?n bir cilvesine dönüÅŸürsün, gölgesiz bir varl??a; bir daha asla ölmeyecek, fakat etraf?ndaki bütün olaylar gibi gelip geçeceksin.

Tanr?m, biraz akl?m?z olsa ölümü düÅŸününce kalk?p sevincimizden dans ederdik! BulduÄŸumuz çarelerden yararlanmay? bilseydik yar?n hepimiz yataklar?m?zda ölebilirdik, ac? çekmeden, huzur içinde, Ölmek istemiyoruz, sorunumuz bu bizim. Tanr? ve yukar?daki çöp tenekelerindeki diÄŸer her ÅŸey bu yüzden var.

The cancer of time is eating us away. Our heroes have killed themselves, or are killing themselves. The hero, then, is not Time, but Timelessness.

I am going to sing for you, a little off key perhaps, but I will sing. I will sing while you croak, I will dance over your dirty corpse.

One more ray of sun and I will be rotten.

Not the slightest indication of a change anywhere. The cancer of time is eating us away. Our heroes have killed themselves, or are killing themselves.