Quotes About Mortality

Tutto passa. Passano le sofferenze e i dolori, passano il sangue, la fame, la pestilenza. La spada sparirà, le stelle invece resteranno, e ci saranno, le stelle, anche quando dalla terra saranno scomparse le ombre persino dei nostri corpi e delle nostre opere. Non c'è uomo che non lo sappia. Ma perché allora non vogliamo rivolgere lo sguardo alle stelle? Perché?

Yes, man is mortal, but that isn't so bad. What's bad is that sometimes he's unexpectedly mortal, that's the rub. And, in general, he can't even say in the morning what he'll be doing that very same night.

Man is mortal and, as has rightly been said, unexpectedly mortal.

El fin de todo esto es trágico: el que hace muy poco se sabía con el poder en las manos, se encuentra de pronto inmóvil en una caja de madera; y los que lo rodean, conscientes de su inutilidad, le queman en un horno.

Cz?owiek jest ?miertelny i jak to kto? s?usznie powiedzia?, to, i? jest ?miertelny, okazuje si? niespodziewanie.

No, to rzeczywiÅ›cie nie sÄ… pieniÄ…dze – lekcewa??co powiedziaÅ' do swego goÅ›cia Woland – chocia? szczerze mówiÄ…c, nawet tyle nie jest panu potrzebne. - Kiedy ma pan zamiar umrze??

Yes, man is mortal, but that would still be just a minor problem. The bad thing is that he's sometimes suddenly mortal, and that's the whole point! And he can't possibly say what he's going to be doing the same evening.

Strange, rapid, disconnected thoughts passed through his mind. 'Dead!' Then: 'They have killed him! . . .' And an absurd notion about immortality, the thought of which aroused a sense of unbearable grief.

El hombre es mortal, y, como acertadamente se dijo, es mortal de repente.

Yapacak bir ÅŸey yok: Ä°nsanoÄŸlu fani ve isabetle söylendiÄŸi üzere aniden fani.

Da, ?ovjek je smrtan, ali to bi bilo tek pola nevolje. Zlo je u tome što je nejgova smrt katkada posve iznenadna, eto u ?emu je trik! I op?enito, on ne može re?i ?ak ni što ?e raditi danas nave?er.

To die; to decide to die; that's much easier for an adolescent than for an adult. What? Doesn't death strip an adolescent of a far larger portion of future? Certainly it does, but for a young person, the future is a remote, abstract, unreal thing he doesn't really believe in.

Yes, it was too late, and Sabina knew she would leave Paris, move on, and on again, because were she to die here they would cover her up with a stone, and in the mind of a woman for whom no place is home the thought of an end to all flight is unbearable.

Man reckons with immortality, and forgets to reckon with death.

History is as light as individual human life, unbearably light, light as a feather, as dust swirling into the air, as whatever will no longer exist tomorrow.

For everyone is pained by the thought of disappearing, unheard and unseen, into an indifferent universe, and because of that everyone wants, while there is still time, to turn himself into a universe of words.

Then there is the third category, the category of people who need to be constantly before the eyes of the person they love. Their situation is a dangerous as the situation in the first category. One day the eyes of their beloved will close, and the room will go dark.

To be mortal is the most basic human experience and yet man has never been able to accept it, grasp it, and behave accordingly. Man doesn't know how to be mortal. And when he dies, he doesn't even know how to be dead.

A person's destiny often ends before his death.

But I'm not dead! Tereza cried. I can still feel! So can we, the corpses laughed.

They talk on about death, about boredom, they drink wine, they laugh, they have a good time, they are happy.

He looks at houses, chateaus, forests, and thinks about the countless generations who used to see those things and who are gone now; and he understands that everything he is seeing is oblivion; pure oblivion, the oblivion whose absolute state will soon be achieved, the moment he himself is gone. And again I think about the obvious idea (that astoundingly obvious idea) that everything that exists (nation, thought, music) can also not exist.

She wants to have her notebooks so that the flimsy framework of events, as she has constructed them in her school notebook, will be provided with walls and become a house she can live in. Because if the tottering structure of her memories collapses like a clumsily pitched tent, all that Tamina will be left with is the present, that invisible point, that nothingness moving slowly toward death.

Even though man himself is mortal, he can imagine neither the end of space nor of time nor of history nor of a people, for he always lives in an illusory infinitude. Those who are fascinated by the idea of progress do not suspect that everything moving forward is at the same time bringing the end nearer and that joyous watchwords like 'forward' and 'farther' are the lascivious voice of death urging us to hasten to it.