Quotes About Mortality

Prior to penicillin and medical research, death was an everyday occurrence. It was intimate.

There are parts of Texas where a fly lives ten thousand years and a man can't die soon enough.

Dying could be a bit of a problem, but not if you had really lived. Dying needed a certain amount of preparation and the only preparation for dying was real living

Defeat the fear of death and you welcome the death of fear.

They were afraid, never having learned what I taught myself: Defeat the fear of death and welcome the death of fear.

The poetry of history lies in the quasi-miraculous fact that once, on this earth, once, on this familiar spot of ground, walked other men and women, as actual as we are today, thinking their own thoughts, swayed by their own passions, but now all gone, one generation vanishing into another, gone as utterly as we ourselves shall shortly be gone, like ghosts at cockcrow.

From looking at your neighbor and realizing his true significance, and that he will die, pity and compassion will arise in you for him and finally you will love him.

Every one of those unfortunates [human beings] during the process of existence should constantly sense and be cognisant of the inevitability of his own death as well as of the death of everyone upon whom his eyes or attention rests. Only such a sensation and such a cognisance can now destroy the egoism completely crystallised in them that has swallowed up the whole of their Essence, and also that tendency to hate others which flows from it.

Humans in the power of death looks no worthier than animal, cherish ur life!

Only when you accept that one day you'll die can you let go, and make the best out of life. And that's the big secret. That's the miracle.

People die every day. That was the most comforting thought Brás had while all the obituaries he wrote at the newspaper flashed before him. He just realized that, even when he's not writing about it, people will keep dying. Isn't it funny how easily forget about work the moment they leave for the day? Isn't it strange how we always seem to remember the trivial things from our daily lives, yet we so often forget the most important ones?

So, in order to be courageous, I now have a fairly simple means at my disposal: to accept death.

Here everything is planned for killing. The ground is ready to receive us, the bullets are ready to hit us, the spots where the shells will explode are fixed in time and space, just like the paths of our destiny which will inevitably lead us to them. And yet we want to stay alive and we use all our mental strength to silence the voice of reason. We are well aware that death does not immortalise a human being in the memories of the living, it simply cancels him out.

A person doesn't die when he should but when he can.

Death is a state of mind---many people on Earth spend their entire lives dead.

I don't want to die," A.J. says after a bit. "I just find it difficult to be here all the time.

It's a tragic fact to die in an accident

All of these teeth had once been in real, live people. They had talked and smiled and eaten and sang and cursed and prayed. They had brushed and flossed and died. In English class, we read poems about death, but here, right in front of me was a poem about death too.

Visto che siamo al mondo, stiamo tutti morendo.

What a world, Sadie thought. People once made glass sculptures of decay, and they put these sculptures in museums. How strange and beautiful human beings are. And how fragile.

He had never seen anything die before and so, he could not be certain that she was dying. And yet, somewhere deep inside himself, he felt a recognition and then a reckoning: this was death, and he would die, and his mother would die, and everyone you ever met and ever loved would die, and maybe it would happen when you or they were old, but maybe not. To know this was unbearable: it was a fact too large for a nine-year-old avatar to contain.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

It gets more exciting," Imogen assured her. "You must be patient, Galina." "If it takes too long, I'll be dead," Nana replied.

What, after all, is a video game's subtextual preoccupation if not the erasure of mortality?