Quotes About Eternity

The god of dirt came up to me many times and said so many wise and delectable things, I lay on the grass listening to his dog voice, crow voice, frog voice; now, he said, and now, and never once mentioned forever

the river can't wait to get to the ocean and the sky, it's been there before.

Now in the spring I kneel, I put my face into the packets of violets, the dampness, the freshness, the sense of ever-ness. Something is wrong, I know it, if I don't keep my attention on eternity. May I be the tiniest nail in the house of the universe, tiny but useful. May I stay forever in the stream. May I look down upon the windflower and the bull thistle and the coreopsis with the greatest respect. _______

and how could anyone believe that anything in this world is only what it appears to be— that anything is ever final— that anything, in spite of its absence, ever dies a perfect death?

No matter what the world claims, its wisdom always growing, so it's said, some things don't alter with time: the first kiss is a good example, and the flighty sweetness of rhyme.

Certainly there is within each of us a self that is neither a child, nor a servant of the hours. It is a third self, occasional in some of us, tyrant in others. This self is out of love with the ordinary; it is out of love with time. It has a hunger for eternity.

At one I paused to drink, and inside me the water whispered: And now, like us, you are a million years old.

Everything That Was Broken Everything that was broken has forgotten its brokenness. I live now in a sky-house, through every window the sun. Also your presence. Our touching, our stories. Earthy and holy both. How can this be, but it is. Every day has something in it whose name is Forever.

Religion says that your soul goes to heaven or possibly to a seven-tiered garden, or that your soul is reincarnated into a new body, or that you lie around in your coffin clothes until the Second Coming. And, of course, only one of these can be true. Which means that for millions of people, religion will turn out to have been a bum steer as regards the hereafter. (13)

It would be especially comforting to believe that I have the answer to the question, What happens when we die? Does the light just go out and that's that—the million-year nap? Or will some part of my personality, my me-ness, persist? What will that feel like? What will I do all day? Is there a place to plug in my laptop?

Death doesn't have to be boring.

I think that at the moment of death that little window opens up. I think that maybe we're all connected to something bigger than we are.

I've enjoyed hanging around in rooms doing nothing much, and look, I get to do it after I die.

I'm always saying, 'After I die, just put me out there and blow me up.

And there are no pockets in shrouds!

When tenderness softened her heart, and the sublime feeling of universal love penetrated her, she found no voice that replied so well to hers as the gentle singing of the pines under the air of noon, and the soft murmurs of the breeze that scattered her hair and freshened her cheek, and the dashing of the waters that has no beginning or end.

I will tell my story, and my reader shall judge for me. I will tell my story, and so contrive to pass some few hours of a long eternity, become so worrisome to me.

It is so long before the mind can persuade itself that she, whom we say every day, and whose very existence appeared a part of our own, can have departed for ever—that the brightness of a beloved eye can be extinguished, and the sound of a voice heard.

Sometimes I could cope with the sullen despair that overwhelmed me: but sometimes the whirlwind passions of my soul drove me to seek, by bodily exercise and by change of place, some relief from my intolerable sensations. It was during an access of this kind that I suddenly left my home, and bending my steps towards the near Alpine valleys, sought in the magnificence, the eternity of such scenes, to forget myself and my ephemeral, because human, sorrows.

but, oh! the weight of never-ending time—the tedious passage of the still-succeeding hours!

I soon shall see you again in heaven, where we shall all be happy; and that consoles me, going as I am to suffer ignominy and death.

It is so long before the mind can persuade itself that she, whom we saw every day, and whose existence appeared a part of our own, can have departed for ever - that the brightness of a beloved eye can be extinguished, and the sound of a voice so familiar, and dear to the ear, can be hushed, never more to be heard.

It is so long before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day and whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed forever—that the brightness of a be- loved eye can have been extinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear can be hushed, never more to be heard.

Let me die the moment my love dies. Let me not outlive my own capacity to love. Let me die still loving, and so, never die.