Quotes About Mortality

I was all ear, And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of Death.

This time it is real — all must die, and where could mountaineer find a more glorious death!

Every man knows that he will die: and nobody believes it. On that paradox stand not only a host of religions but the entity of a sane being.

Every man knows he will die; and nobody believes it. On that paradox stand not only a host of religions but the entity of sane being.

We rush through our days in such stress and intensity, as if we were here to stay and the serious project of the world depended on us. We worry and grow anxious; we magnify trivia until they become important enough to control our lives. Yet all the time, we have forgotten that we are but temporary sojourners on the surface of a strange planet spinning slowly in the infinite night of the cosmos.

We also notice, at the other end, how the shadows of old age are lit more and more from the invisible world.

We should never forget that death is waiting for us. A man once said to a friend of mine in Gaelic, 'we'll be lying down in the earth for about fifteen million years, and we have short exposure.' You have to begin to transfigure your fear...at the end of your life, when death comes, it won't be some kind of monster, but it can actually be a friend who hides the most truthful image of your soul.

At a deeper level, time is but eternity living dangerously.

Many of us get very afraid and we eventually compromise. We settle for something that is safe, rather than engaging the danger and the wildness that is in our own hearts. We should never forget that death is waiting for us

Winston Churchill lived into his nineties and said the only exercise he ever got was serving as a pallbearer for his friends who died while they were exercising.

Lately in a wreck of a Californian ship, one of the passengers fastened a belt about him with two hundred pounds of gold in it, with which he was found afterwards at the bottom. Now, as he was sinking- had he the gold? or the gold him?

For, truly, the man who does not know when to die, does not know how to live.

Imperfection is in some sorts essential to all that we know of life. It is the sign of life in a mortal body, that is to say, of a state of progress and change. Nothing that lives is, or can be, rigidly perfect: part of it is decaying, part nascent. The foxglove blossom - A third part bud, a third part past, a third part full bloom, - is a type of the life of this world.

What one person has, another cannot have; and that every atom of substance, of whatever kind, used or consumed, is so much human life spent, which, if it issue in the saving present life, or gaining more, is well spent, but if not, is either so much life prevented or so much slain.

A chama da vida arde por um tempo e então se apaga. As sepulturas aguardam pacientemente a hora de serem ocupadas. A morte é o fim de toda a vida. Viver é se remexer constantemente em um túmulo. As coisas vivem e morrem. Às vezes vivem bem, e às vezes mal, mas sempre morrem, e a morte é aquilo que reduz todas as coisas ao menor denominador comum.

Hey, people get killed from time to time, that's just the way of the world, let's not bust a budget about it . . .

death. On impulse, she picked up the remote

Ensign Davis thought, Screw this, I want to live, and swerved to avoid the land worms. But then he tripped and one of the land worms ate his face and he died anyway.

Do you know what I plan to do with my body once I am dead?" "I do not, Countess." "Neither do I. I'll be dead and I won't give a shit.

The short version was death, disease, despots and destruction. The longer version had kept him up wondering what the hell was wrong with people.

I was getting away with something in my own way. But then I get here and saw you, brain-dead and with tubes coming out of every part of your body. And I realized I wasn't getting away with anything. Just like you didn't get away with anything. You were just born, fucked around for a while, got hit by a car and died, and that's your whole life story right there. You don't win by getting through all you life not having done anything.

Then you're seventy-five, friends are dead, and you've replaced at least one major organ: you have to pee four times a night, and you can't go up a flight a stairs without being little winded -- and your're told you're in pretty good shape for your age. [....], in a decade you'll be eighty-five, and the only difference between you and a raisin will be that while you're both wrinkled and without a prostate, the raisin never had a prostate to begin with.

After everything, what it all means is that if one day we slip in the bathroom and crack our head on the toilet, our last thoughts can be a satisfied, 'Well, I and only I did this to myself.

Listen to me or don't. But if you don't, you'll be dead. And then where will you be? Dead, that's where.