Quotes About Mortality

His stillness was commanding. I felt myself getting whiter by the second. What does it mean to become white? How does it feel to see Death in the flesh, come to gather you in? I was scared to the marrow. I was cold and hot, dry and wet, myself and someone else. The fist clenched in my chest. I went to the staircase and sat on the top step, looking into my hands. So much remained. Every word and thing a beadwork of bright creation.

People say great art is immortal. I say there's something mortal in it. It carries a glimpse of death.

This is death. I don't want it to tarry awhile so I can write a monograph. I want it to go away for seventy or eighty years.

I am a bad actor. Not for me or my camera. I see the person, not some idea he wants to make himself into. I'm all idea today. I definitely don't see it. I'm playing the idea of death. Look closely, he said.

He told me that I hadn't done anything yet. Hadn't lived yet. All you do is pass the time, he said.

In the Times every morning, wasn't it a fact that the obits and the ad column tended to appear on facing pages?

I needed death in order to believe I was living, an atmosphere of death much more real and personal than anything the newspapers can offer.

I want to die and be finished forever. Don't you want to die?" he said. "I don't know." "What's the point of living if we don't die at the end of it?" In

No sense of the irony of human existence, that we are the highest form of life on earth and yet ineffably sad because we know what no other animal knows, that we must die.

What's the point in living if we don't die at the end of it?

Don't we know when a death is passing in the air?

We have learned not to be afraid of the dark but we've forgotten that darkness means death.

Le trame possiedono una logica. C'è una tendenza, nelle trame, a evolvere in direzione della morte.

Imagining yourself dead is the cheapest, sleaziest, most satisfying form of childish self-pity. How sad and remorseful and guilty all those people are, standing by your great bronze coffin.

He no longer describes the earth as a library globe or a map that has come alive, as a cosmic eye staring into deep space. The earth is land and water, the dwelling place of mortal men, in elevated dictionary terms. He doesn't see it anymore (storm-spiralled, sea-bright, breathing heat and haze and colour) as an occasion for picturesque language, for easeful play or speculation.

What did I read just the other day? there are more people dead today than in the rest of world history put together. What's one extra? I'd just as soon die while I'm trying to put Orest Mercator's name in the record book.' I looked at my son. I said, 'Is he trying to tell us there are more people dying in this twenty0four hour period than in the rest of human history up to now?

What did I read just the other day? there are more people dead today than in the rest of world history put together. What's one extra? I'd just as soon die while I'm trying to put Orest Mercator's name in the record book.' I looked at my son. I said, 'Is he trying to tell us there are more people dying in this twenty-four hour period than in the rest of human history up to now?

The life of a star of this type and magnitude. Isn't the life structured to cut you down early? This is the point, isn't it? There are rules, guidelines. If you don't have the grace and wit to die early, you are forced to vanish, to hide as if in shame and apology.

No weakening of the spirit. No sense of the irony of human existence, that we are the highest form of life on earth and yet ineffably sad because we know what no other animal knows, that we must die.

Baba, I am the one in this family who is obsessed by death. I have always been the one.

How much pleasure did you take as a kid," Lasher said, "in imagining yourself dead?

Nada existía a su alrededor. Solo el sonido dentro de su cabeza, la mente suspensa en el tiempo. Cuando muriese, no seria su fin. Seria el fin del mundo.

I thought of telling them about the computer tally, the time-factored death I carried in my chromosomes and blood. Self-pity oozed through my soul. I tried to relax and enjoy it.

my arms on the cinder track. Kids came running our way, thirty girls in bright shorts, an improbable bobbing mass. The eager breathing, the overlapping rhythms of their footfalls. Sometimes I think our love is inexperienced. The question of dying becomes a wise reminder. It cures us of our innocence of the future. Simple things are doomed, or is that a superstition? We watched