Quotes About Mortality

I cannot remember my past, my nose, or the colour of my eyes, or what my general opinion of myself is. Only in moments of emergency, at a crossing, at a kerb, the wish to preserve my body springs out and seizes me and stops me , here, before this omnibus. We insist, it seems, on living. Then again, indifference descends.

All the same that one day should follow another; Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday; that one should wake up in the morning; see the sky; walk in the park...then these roses; it was enough. After that, how unbelievable death was! -- that it must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all.

I have lost friends, some by death—Percival—others through sheer inability to cross the street.

It is permissible even for a dying hero to think before he dies how men will speak of him hereafter. His fame lasts perhaps two thousand years. And what are two thousand years? (asked Mr Ramsay ironically, staring at the hedge). What, indeed, if you look from a mountain top down the long wastes of the ages? The very stone one kicks with one's boot will outlast Shakespeare.

Oh! thought Clarissa, in the middle of my party, here's death, she thought.

The reason why it is easy to kill another person must be that one's imagination is too sluggish to conceive what his life means to him - the infinite possibilities of a succession of days which are furled in him, & have already been spent.

when London is a grass-grown path and all those hurrying along the pavement this Wednesday morning are but bones with a few wedding rings mixed up in their dust and the gold stoppings of innumerable decayed teeth

last the play was ended. All had grown dark. The tears streamed down his face. Looking up into the sky there was nothing but blackness there too. Ruin and death, he thought, cover all. The life of man ends in the grave. Worms devour us.

Thats what makes a view so sad, and so beautiful. It'll be there when we're not.

The Great Frost was, historians tell us, the most severe that has ever visited these islands. Birds froze in mid-air and fell like stones to the ground. At Norwich a young countrywoman started to cross the road in her usual robust health and was seen by onlookers to turn visibly to powder and be blown in a puff of dust over the roofs as the icy blast struck her at the street corner.

Translating this to the spiritual regions as their wont is, the poets sang beautifully how roses fade and petals fall. The moment is brief they sang; the moment is over; one long night is then to be slept by all.

I am suspended between life and death in an unfamiliar way

An open page displays lines from Cymbeline, a song of death, a lament: "'Fear no more the heat o' the sun/Nor the furious winter's rages.

I strike spurs into my horse. Against you I will fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O Death!

De modo que não havia mesmo desculpa; não tinha absolutamente nada, exceto o pecado pelo qual a natureza humana o condenava à morte, o pecado de não sentir.

What, indeed, if you look from a mountain-top down the long wastes of the ages? The very stone one kicks with one's boot will outlast Shakespeare.

After that, how unbelievable death was! - that it must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all; how, every instant . . .

I reflect now that the earth is only a pebble flicked off accidentally from the face of the sun and that there is no life anywhere in the abysses of space.

Nos han cortado, hemos caído. Nos hemos convertido en parte del insensible universo que duerme cuanto más despiertos estamos, y que arde, rojo, cuando nosotros yacemos dormidos. Hemos renunciado a nuestra sazón y ahora estamos tumbados, inertes, marchitos, y muy pronto seremos olvidados. Bernard

Has the finger of death to be laid on the tumult of life from time to time lest it rend us asunder? Are we so made that we have to take death in small doses daily or we could not go on with the business of the living?

Es preciso que el dedo de la muerte se pose en el tumulto de la vida de vez en cuando para que no nos haga pedazos? ¿Estamos conformados de tal manera que diariamente necesitamos minúsculas dosis de muerte para ejercer el oficio de vivir?

Is it permissible even for a dying hero to think before he dies ow men will think of him hereafter. His fame lasts perhaps two thousand years. And what are two thousand years?

Terá o dedo da morte de pousar de vez em quando no tumulto da vida para evitar que ele nos despedace? Tal será a nossa condição que devamos receber, diariamente, a morte, em pequenas doses, para podermos prosseguir na empresa da vida?

Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely; all this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely?