Quotes About Mortality

It is possible to provide security against other ills, but as far as death is concerned, we men live in a city without walls.

We all know we're going to die; what's important is the kind of men and women we are in the face of this.

Men are convinced of your arguments, your sincerity, and the seriousness of your efforts only by your death.

But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.

I am a man by virtue of my hands and my feet, my belly, my heart of meat, my stomach whose knots reunite me to the putrefaction of life.

What do you get the man who has everything? Might I suggest a gravestone inscribed with the words: so what?

All men are frail; but thou shouldst reckon none so frail as thyself.

Man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave.

All men come into this world alone and leave it alone.

Dead men would start and move toward me to learn of love.

To be immortal is commonplace; except for man, all creatures are immortal, for they are ignorant of death; what is divine, terrible, incomprehensible, is to know that one is immortal.

We forget that we are all dead men conversing with dead men.

A fruitfly is ancient in 40 days, a mouse at 3 years, a horse at 30, a man at 100, and some species of tortoises not until 150 years.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.

A doctor's reputation is made by the number of eminent men who die under his care.

The deeds of men, as footprints in the desert. Nothing under the circling moons is fated to last. Even the sun goes down.

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

Love doesn't die; the men and women do.

Old men, what are they? Fast fading the leaf, Three-footed they walk, yet frail as a child, As a dream set afloat in the daylight.

No one is promiscuous in his way of dying. A man who has decided to hang himself will never jump in front of a train.

Man is a bird full of mud, I say aloud. And death looks on with a casual eye and scratches his anus.

A mass of dust, world's momentary slave, Is man, in state of our old Adam made, Soon born to die, soon flourishing to fade.

As for the common men apart, Who sweat to keep their common breath, And have no hour for books or art-- What dreams have these to hide from death!

Only against death does man cry out in vain.