Quotes About Mortality

We all die alone...... I could have helped her with the dying.

The soul seemed to flower as the body declined.

I'm just bones in a box, Teddy.

His heart stopped. His lungs. His brain. The circumnavigation of his blood.

We are not special. We are lit from within by a single candle flame, and when that flame is blown out and all light leaves our eyes, it is the same as if we never existed at all. We don't own our life, we rent it.

There is no UHaul behind the hearse.

Some doctors who specialize in the care of geriatric patients have told me that there are rare occasions when they have heard a very old, sick, and frail person announce, "I'm going to die today." And the individual did. But it doesn't happen often.

I once knew a man who said death smiles at us all,A man can only smile back

If I die before I say 'I love you' it's because I didn't have the time.

Hodie mihi cras tibi, said the inscription. Sic transit gloria mundi. My turn today, yours tomorrow. And thus passes away the glory of the world.

The colors of living things begin to fade with the last breath, and the soft, springy skin and supple muscle rot within weeks. But the bones sometimes remain, faithful echoes of the shape, to bear some last faint witness to the glory of what was.

There was nothing frightening about the dead man; there never is. No matter how ugly the manner in which a man dies, it's only the presence of a suffering human soul that is horrifying; once gone, what is left is only an object

Hodie mihi cras tibi. Sic transit gloria mundi.

My God, he thought, I'm going to die before I've been born.

But do ye not see how verra small a thing is the notion of death, between us two, Claire?" he whispered.

accept the notion of one's own mortality, and yet live fully, was a paradox worthy of Socrates.

Like forgiveness, it was not a thing once learned and then comfortably put aside but a matter of constant practice—to accept the notion of one's own mortality, and yet live fully, was a paradox worthy of Socrates.

Often people who are very ill, but are near their birthday, seem to wait until it's passed before dying. I

And the light was gone, and the air failed them. And so they lay down in the dark to die.

No matter how ugly the manner in which a man dies, it's only the presence of a suffering human soul that is horrifying; once gone, what is left is only an object.

I was having trouble with the scale of things. A man killed with a musket was just as dead as one killed with a mortar. It was just that the mortar killed impersonally, destroying dozens of men, while the musket was fired by one man who could see the eyes of the one he killed. That made it murder, it seemed to me, not war. How many men to make a war? Enough, perhaps, so they didn't really have to see each other?

there was nothing frightening about the dead man; there never is. No matter how ugly the manner in which a man dies, it's only the presence of a suffering human soul that is horrifying; once gone, what is left is only an object.

The story detailed all of his works, and then concluded in these words—'And so he died, at the conclusion of an eminently useful life, and thus obtained his crown in Paradise.' " She paused, flexing her hands lightly on her knees. "There was something about that that appealed most strongly to me. 'An eminently useful life.' " She smiled at me. "I could think of many worse epitaphs than that, milady.

Man is like the grass that withers and is thrown into the fire; he is like the sparks that fly upward Ã¢â'¬Â¦ and his place will know him no more