Quotes About Passing

Death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all, all shall die.

Death is nature's way of saying, 'Your table is ready.

Death so called is a thing which makes men weep And yet a third of life is pass'd in sleep.

Not how he died, not what he died of, even less why he died, are of concern, to me, only the fact that he did die, he is dead, is important: the loss to me, to us

Death is just the birth of yet another odyssey.

Death is not the end.

you can pass a football, you can gas, but you yourself cannot just pass~cam after lilly's mother informs her that lilly has passed

Death is the destiny.

Death is Beautiful

Death doesn't always want your eternal sleep. Sometimes Death just wants your eternity.

Death is what happens when you die.

Dead man shouldn't have no fears. Makes his passing easier.

Death is the destiny of every man.

My ambition is limited to the desire to capture something transient, and yet, this ambition is excessive.

All that passes is raised to the dignity of expression; all that happens is raised to the dignity of meaning. Everything is either symbol or parable.

Kroos is an excellent player.

And she stopped herself, because death is like that: people are alive until they die

It's the kind of human junk that deepens the landscape, makes it sadder and lonelier and places a vague sad subjective regret at the edge of your response—not regret so much as a sense of time's own esthetic, how strange and still and beautiful a chunk of concrete can be, lived in fleetingly and abandoned, the soul of wilderness signed by men and women passing through.

If we isolate the stray thought, the passing thought, he said, the thought whose origin is unfathomable, then we begin to understand that we are routinely deranged, everyday crazy.

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

We do not live this life to build a monument to ourselves, but to pass our understanding of life on to those who come behind us so that their stories can be even more meaningful than ours.

A truck shot past in a whine of spray.

It exists; and it keeps on existing. And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve them and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand, singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of lovers, and the next.

Every experience that arises passes away.