Best 621 quotes in «afterlife quotes» category

Give me something to worship; whatever.” Cries the human soul

God does not exist, as neither does our hereafter, that second bogey being as easily disposed of as the first. Indeed, imagine yourself just dead—and suddenly wide awake in Paradise where, wreathed in smiles, your dear dead welcome you. Now tell me, please, what guarantee do you possess that those beloved ghosts are genuine; that it is really your dear dead mother and not some petty demon mystifying you, masked as your mother and impersonating her with consummate art and naturalness? There is the rub, there is the horror; the more so as the acting will go on and on, endlessly; never, never, never, never, never will your soul in that other world be quite sure that the sweet gentle spirits crowding about it are not fiends in disguise, and forever, and forever, and forever shall your soul remain in doubt, expecting every moment some awful change, some diabolical sneer to disfigure the dear face bending over you.

God has not yet revealed himself to no one in no unclear terms. Religions are attempts to find him; on that level they are all equal

God is powerful. Even those who claim not to believe in him fear him. Though their mouths may confess to disbelieve in him, their hearts yearn for him.

God? We don't know what He's like. But at least now that we're dead we all know we don't know, whereas on Earth we all thought we knew, and those who didn't know didn't know that they knew they didn't know. They didn't find that out till they'd been here in purgatory for a while. Now we all know we don't know. Even the angels.

Good gods are scarce because the majority of gods are created by evil men

Heaven is inside us,' Ida uttered in a rather loud whisper.

He Is Not Dead I cannot say, and I will not say That he is dead. He is just away. With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand, He has wandered into an unknown land And left us dreaming how very fair It needs must be, since he lingers there. And you—oh you, who the wildest yearn For an old-time step, and the glad return, Think of him faring on, as dear In the love of There as the love of Here. Think of him still as the same. I say, He is not dead—he is just away.

Heaven, or the Other Side is all around us. It is not in some far away place. Your loved ones are just a thought away.

He had returned to the source of the river that ran steadily through the galaxy, invigorating and sweeping up the dead as it passed.

Heaven is spectacular, some would say paradise. A magnificent city surrounded by walls of gold and rainbow paths all dazzling in Gods light. There is no fear in Heaven, nor is there pain, and most really have found serenity there

He could argue a case for anything, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s wrong most of the time.

...he fed his insides before they fed on him.

Hell: a personalised service.

Hell was hot and full of unkind people in a hurry; there was far too much red tape; and the bureaucrats were all shockingly corrupt.

He told her she was right. That for all they knew, they still knew nothing. That for all they knew, there were still worlds after this one, eternities that followed the abyss. And he told her that if they died tomorrow, he would follow her across them. He would chase her through existence if that’s what it took.

Here's my question: What age are you when you're in Heaven?

He would have died rather quickly to not lose track of his wife in the afterlife.

He was humbled by her infinite love toward him - it shone through even in his afterlife.

He wouldn’t be the one to prove to the world that there was an afterlife, but he hoped to be the one to prove it to himself, though he would have a few stern questions for a Creator who made people haunt libraries.

His father's last word, which Sean had never told anyone, not even his mother, hadn't been goodbye: it had been hello. He hadn't died; he'd been set free from the constraints of history and flesh. And while the fathers of other children could only be the people they were, and were forced to live the lives they'd made for themselves, the Philip Steiner of his son's daydreams was all the possible versions of himself that Sean could imagine. He was always near, always ready to listen, always offering solace. He was all the possible fathers. He was a dragonslayer and a titan of industry; he was a cunning detective and a grizzled gunfighter; he was an astronaut and a priest and a jailer of thieves. He lived in the shadows, and he filled his son's world with light.

His Nana's prayers were moving toward his mother like little butterflies of thoughts wrapped in the most beautiful colors. Each prayer looked like a mini-rainbow.

His spirit chaunged house and wente ther, As I cam nevere, I kan nat tellen wher.

How could you die and not be old enough to hear about premarital sex? How could you die and still not be allowed to fall in love or be honest? Surely not everything had to wait for university and a good job. Passion and truth had to trump even those things.

, “How can one mock these flamingo wine glasses. When, they are so obviously awesome.

How did I picture the life after the grave? I fairly bawled out at him: "A life in which I can remember this life on earth. That's all I want of it.

How easy it would be just to let go, to go willingly into all that wonderful energy.

Humans are well known for weaving intricate webs of thought and then ensnaring themselves in their own creations. Our universe functions as a powerful energy mirror. With every focused thought you are broadcasting waves of creative energy into your immediate environment. Few realize that their thoughts have a powerful impact upon the subtle energies around them.

How gloomy would be these mansions of the dead to him who did not know that he shall never die; that what now acts shall continue its agency, and what now thinks shall think on for ever. Those that lie here stretched before us, the wise and the powerful of ancient times, warn us to remember the shortness of our present state; they were, perhaps, snatched away while they were busy, like us, in the choice of life.

How much does a man need to survive? two meals a day, one bed for the night and a few sets of clothes. That is all you need in life

Human knowledge hasn't been complete enough to understand the afterlife if it hasn't been through the valley of death.

How many ills, how many infirmities, does man owe to his excesses, his ambition – in a word, to the indulgence of his various passions! He who should live soberly in all respects, who should never run into excesses of any kind, who should be always simple in his tastes, modest in his desires, would escape a large proportion of the tribulations of human life. It is the same with regard to spirit-life, the sufferings of which are always the consequence of the manner in which a spirit has lived upon the earth. In that life undoubtedly he will no longer suffer from gout or rheumatism; but his wrong-doing down here will cause him to experience other sufferings no less painful. We have seen that those sufferings are the result of the links which exist between a spirit and matter; that the more completely he is freed from the influence of matter – in other words, the more dematerialized he is – the fewer are the painful sensations experienced by him. It depends, therefore, on each of us to free ourselves from the influence of matter by our action in this present life. Man possesses free-will, and, consequently, the power of electing to do or not to do. Let him conquer his animal passions; let him rid himself of hatred, envy, jealousy, pride; let him throw off the yoke of selfishness; let him purify his soul by cultivating noble sentiments; let him do good; let him attach to the things of this world only the degree of importance which they deserve – and he will, even under his present corporeal envelope, have effected his purification, and achieved his deliverance from the influence of matter, which will cease for him on his quitting that envelope. For such a one the remembrance of physical sufferings endured by him in the life he has quitted has nothing painful, and produces no disagreeable impression, because they affected his body only, and left no trace in his soul. He is happy to be relieved from them; and the calmness of a good conscience exempts him from all moral suffering.

Humans have been doin’ awful things to each other throughout history. Humanity’s not as great as you make it out to be. I do what needs to be done, and that’s that. We’re about to go to war, Earl. There ain’t no humanity in war.

I am a part of you, and the part of me, that is a part of you, will always be a part of you. That part will never leave you.

I am somewhere else now. I am part human, part metaphysics, and I still haven't worked out which parts of me are which. I love this new form. I can feel space traveling through me. I am porous and wondrous and bold ... It's not that I loved to leave, rather that staying was always completely impossible.

I am fashionably unimpressed with the material world. I am moved by the beauty of aspiration, and I hope that I can elevate myself to the standards I have imposed on others.

I am not dead. Death does not exist. I am alive! That is the purpose of this tale, to let everyone know that they do go on and that they don't need to be afraid, as I was afraid. Yet I also have a selfish reason for wanting my story told. I was young when I died. I didn't have a chance to make my mark in the world. I didn't do anything unique, nothing that will change the course of history. But I wasn't a bad girl. I don't want to be forgotten. I want people to remember me.

I am so often moved by souls whose first concern is not for their own lost years, but for the grief their passing will cause to those they love. It's more common than you might think. The most ordinary mortal bodies are housed by spectacular souls.

...and the hermit's spirit detaches itself, ever so gently, and begins its lonely passage upward, to find its final resting place among the stars.

I believe we see a sliver of heaven when we dream, but our mortal fears and worries cloud our vision.

I believe there is no heaven or hell. There are no devils or angels. No afterlife or salvation. My soul won't be incarnated or lost in the oblivion. One day, I will just stop existing... and that's it!

I believe that when I die I shall rot, and nothing of my ego will survive. I am not young and I love life. But I should scorn to shiver with terror at the thought of annihilation. Happiness is nonetheless true happiness because it must come to an end, nor do thought and love lose their value because they are not everlasting. Many a man has borne himself proudly on the scaffold; surely the same pride should teach us to think truly about man's place in the world. Even if the open windows of science at first make us shiver after the cosy indoor warmth of traditional humanizing myths, in the end the fresh air brings vigour, and the great spaces have a splendour of their own.

If I am to be a skeleton in a box buried deep into the ground, I pray you will be the dust that rests atop my bones.

I can’t be 100 per cent sure about the whole death thing as I’m still here,

I didn’t know the grim reaper looked like Sid Vicious. – Jen

I doubt there's any significance in a second-to-last breath.

If God knows the number of hairs on your head he already knew where you'll go after you're dead.

If I convert it's because it's better that a believer dies than that an atheist does.

I can see her struggling to find the right word. Death seems so harsh. Passing so oblique. Some things are beyond words, I suppose, and she never finishes the statement. It seems right, that her words should fall into oblivion; after all, she—like me, like everyone—has no words for what follows, for the unknowable, only her hopes and prayers and an unwavering faith in something more.

I didn't know who to believe but one thing I do know: when a man is living many claim relationships that are hardly so and after he dies, well, then it's everybody's party.