Quotes About Eternity

though love be a day and life be nothing, it shall not stop kissing.

Unbeing dead isn't being alive.

life's not a paragraph And death i think is no parenthesis

Every action of our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity.

Every action in our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity.

You can't have an ending. It's impossible. Because unlike in the movies, life goes on. You're never at the end until you die.

We were warm and shivering, and young and ancient, and alive. I was thinking, it's true. We already love each other. We already do.

We were warm and shivering, and young and ancient, and alive.

Maybe we have known each other always. Maybe our hearts have encountered each other somehow,

I mean, when I die, throw my ashes in the water of the tiny beach. Then when you miss me, you can climb up here, look down, and think how awesome I was.

The island is ours. Here, in some way, we are young forever

The people I respect most behave as if they were immortal and as if society was eternal.

Death destroys a man, but the idea of death saves him.

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you

Someone dying asks if there is life after death. Yes, comes the answer, only not yours.

El abismo de dos mundos incomunicables se abre entre el hombre que tiene el sentimiento de la muerte y el que no lo tiene; sin embargo, los dos mueren; pero uno ignora su muerte, el otro la sabe; el uno no muere más que un instante, el otro no cesa de morir…

Why fear the nothing that is in store for us when it is no different from the nothing that preceded us?

Death destroys a man: the idea of Death saves him.

It isn't possible to love and to part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.

And now we shan't be parted no more, and that's finished.

We know that we come from the winds, and that we shall return to them; that all life is perhaps a knot, a tangle, a blemish in the eternal smoothness. But why should this make us unhappy? Let us love one another, and work and rejoice. I don't believe in this world sorrow.

The present flowed by them like a stream. The tree rustled. It had made music before they were born, and would continue after their deaths, but its song was of the moment. The moment had passed. The tree rustled again. Their senses were sharpened, and they seemed to apprehend life. Life passed. The tree rustled again.

They too entered the world of dreams- that world in which a third of each man's life is spent, and which is thought by some pessimists to be a premonition of eternity.

For the dead, who seem to take away so much, really take with them nothing that is ours. The passion they have aroused lives after them, easy to transmute or to transfer, but well-nigh impossible to destroy.