Best 621 quotes in «afterlife quotes» category

The sense of a soul and afterlife is an intuitive illusion.

The shade of the sky changed ever so slightly in her peripheral vision. She raised her eyes from her toes to the horizon, to witness the sun’s last dance in the daylight as it began to descend slowly, magically into the distant sea. Exotic pastel hues of orange and fuchsia were now painted across the fading expression of the day. It was a calm yet isolating vision to take into her heart, for it made her feel exceedingly small in the grand scheme of things.

The soul takes nothing with her to the next world but her education and her culture. At the beginning of the journey to the next world, one's education and culture can either provide the greatest assistance, or else act as the greatest burden, to the person who has just died.

The storage capacity of the average human brain is two-hundred and fifty-six exabytes. However, the average adult human only uses approximately one billionth of that storage space effectively. This means my knowledge capacity is approximately three thousand trillion times that of your average human.

The strongest intimidation, by the way, is the invention of a hereafter with a hell everlasting.

The sun does not rise when you need it most. You rise instead.

The sun had now set the sky ablaze with glorious hues of orange. She squinted to focus in the brilliance and thoughts of distant fire breathing dragons lit up her imagination once again.

The truth in death can only be found in the dying itself.

The vision people hold of the world to come is but a reflection, with predictable wishful distortions, of the world in which they live.

The world you are in – Is the true hell. The journey to Truth itself Is what quickens the heart to become lighter. The lighter the heart, the purer it is. The purer the heart, the closer to light it becomes. And the heavier the heart, The more chained to this hell It will remain.

Throughout Mesoamerica it was a common belief that a dog carried the soul of a newly deceased person across a body of water. According to the Aztecs, the first level of the Underworld was a place called Apanoayan (where one crosses the river) or Itzcuintlan (the Place of Dogs).

This concept of the afterlife really functions as a substitute for wisdom. It functions as a substitute for really absorbing our predicament, which is that everyone is going to die; there are circumstances that are just catastrophically unfair; evil sometimes wins and injustice sometimes wins, and that the only justice we are going to find in the world is the justice we make. We have an ethical responsibility to absorb this, really down to the soles of our feet. And this notion of an afterlife, of how it's all going to work out and its all part of god's plan, is a way of shirking that responsibility.

This I can declare: things that are in heaven are more real than things that are in the world.

Through discussions, reading, contemplation, and practice I've come to recognize the importance of subtle feelings and symbols. By paying attention to subtle energy, typically in the form of thoughts and feelings, we began to tap into our inner capacity to commune with those we've loved and lost, as well as other streams of consciousness and information.

Three, 300, or 3,000 - these are the number of unknown days, each far too little and yet too much at the same time, to see an irrevocably declined loved one languish and suffer, with that bittersweet release lingering in the doorway, but never quite being sent all the way in, to comfort and carry our loved one to that Better Place.” ― Connie Kerbs

Today the journey is ended, I have worked out the mandates of fate; Naked, alone, undefended, I knock at the Uttermost Gate. Behind is life and its longing, Its trial, its trouble, its sorrow; Beyond is the Infinite Morning Of a day without a tomorrow. Go back to dust and decay, Body, grown weary and old; You are worthless to me from today— No longer my soul can you hold. I lay you down gladly forever For a life that is better than this; I go where partings ne'er sever You into oblivion's abyss. Lo, the gate swings wide at my knocking, Across endless reaches I see Lost friends with laughter come flocking To give a glad welcome to me. Farewell, the maze has been threaded, This is the ending of strife; Say not that death should be dreaded— 'Tis but the beginning of life.

Time is more than life, it is afterlife.

To be honest that it holds hardship, failure, and collapse in life; however, paradise reward, afterlife.

Too many times we're stuck trying to revive the dead when we can't even rouse the living." The woman added a paperboard coffee sleeve around Lexi's cup. "I think if we spent as much time worrying about the life prior to the afterlife, we would likely have no time to contemplate the latter. Heaven and Hell are right here, inside of us. We take them with us wherever we go." "That's pretty good." Lexi took a sip of the coffee, desperate for caffeine. "What are your views on relationships?" Sahar smiled. "Don't settle until you find the one who makes you want to say ya'aburnee." "What?" "It's Arabic for 'you bury me.' The hope that the person you love will outlive you so that you will be spared the pain of living without them.

To Hell we have already been.

Une vie où je pourrais me souvenir de celle-ci.

Ulysses found himself hopelessly adrift within the confines of a yew-hedge maze, the leaf tips of which were lit by a Communion-wafer moon that rested on the black tongue of night.

True spiritual love is not a feeble imitation and anticipation of death, but a triumph over death, not a separation of the immortal form from the mortal, of the eternal from the temporal, but a transfiguration of the mortal into the immortal, the acceptance of the temporal into the eternal. False spirituality is a denial of the flesh; true spirituality is the regeneration of the flesh, its salvation, its resurrection from the dead.

We live and we die, but we are made of sterner stuff. The carbon atoms in our fingernails, the calcium in our bones, the iron atoms in our blood -- all the countless trillions of atoms of which we are made -- are ancient objects. They existed before us, before the Earth itself, in fact. And after each of us dies, they will depart from our bodies and do other things. Forever.

We all end up dying in the end. It’s just a question of how and when.

We are not forgotten by those we have loved, and they do visit us more times than we consciously know. I hope my story provides some comfort to those who have experienced the loss of someone they love deeply. “Paula Lenz’s book shows how the deepest grief can unlock the greatest spiritual treasures. The story of how the death of her beloved brother Don also provided her — and us — with inconvertible evidence of life after death should convince any skeptic that we live after we die. Driving into Infinity will take you on a riveting journey of self-discovery.” -Kenneth Ring, Ph.D., Author of Lessons from the Light

We are the voices in the shadows, Between the light and shade, Betwixt life and restful death, In the dark periphery of the unseen. We’re here, At the edges. We are the villainous punished, The innocent murdered or abandoned, Our lives ended by foul means, or unspeakable deeds. We are your lovers long gone; your siblings forsaken. Can you hear us? At the edges From the Foreword of Cautionary Tales - by Emmanuelle de Maupassant

We do not know what to do with this short life, yet we want another which will be eternal.

Well, suppose we remain upon earth, after all? Suppose we bravely accept the death of our dreams at the same time as the death of our bodies? This beyond is decidedly uncertain, quite vague and mobile. I do not believe that it exists everywhere; I believe that it is nowhere except in our infantile imaginations. Born with us, it will end at the same moment that we do, to be born anew in our posterity. The beyond is the earthly tomorrow, as we bequeath it to our heirs and as they modify it by their efforts and in accordance with their tastes.

Well, there’s another place—another country, isn’t there? We go there when we sleep; at other times, too; and when we die.

Well you know what they say. It’s always raining somewhere.

We all want to become more than we are, we want to live forever, that is why we hate death and create the afterlife.

We are like other animals; we live and die as they do. If there is any afterlife, I believe we are in together.

We cannot leave, but that does not mean we will stay—stay in the same place in the same system that profits from recycling us at the bottom. We will disrupt it. Build our own space that will swallow bits and pieces of theirs. We were waiting for permission, waiting for the Darkness to acknowledge our worth, but we’ve always had the power to make it come to be.

WE CONTINUE TO DWELL AMONG THE LIVING AFTER WE DIE. WE LIVE ON IN MINDS, HEARTS AND LIPS.

We don’t see the life after life as it truly is, because in our eyes it conforms to our mechanics of nature.

Well, for one, you walk around like you’re so much better than everyone else. We’re all a bunch of soulless animals or somethin’ in your eyes, I guess. You’re the high and mighty one and I ain’t fit to drink your piss.

Well one tiny poisonous spider can kill a very large man if it bites him in the right place.

What if a demon crept after thee into thy loneliest loneliness some day or night, and said to thee: "This life, as thou livest it at present, and hast lived it, thou must live it once more, and also innumerable times; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and every sigh, and all the unspeakably small and great in thy life must come to thee again, and all in the same series and sequence—and similarly this spider and this moonlight among the trees, and similarly this moment, and I myself. The eternal sand-glass of existence will ever be turned once more, and thou with it, thou speck of dust!"—Wouldst thou not throw thyself down and gnash thy teeth, and curse the demon that so spake? Or hast thou once experienced a tremendous moment in which thou wouldst answer him: "Thou art a God, and never did I hear anything so divine!" If that thought acquired power over thee as thou art, it would transform thee, and perhaps crush thee; the question with regard to all and everything: "Dost thou want this once more, and also for innumerable times?" would lie as the heaviest burden upon thy activity! Or, how wouldst thou have to become favourably inclined to thyself and to life, so as to long for nothing more ardently than for this last eternal sanctioning and sealing?

Were the happiness of the next world as closely apprehended as the felicities of this, it were a martyrdom to live; and unto such as consider none hereafter, it must be more than death to die, which makes us amazed at those audacities that durst be nothing and return into their chaos again. Certainly such spirits as could contemn death, when they expected no better being after, would have scorned to live, had they known any.

What are those glorious dots? Those, dear one, are forget-me-nots!

We were sitting at the bar on the ninth floor. No alcohol served after dark––and it was always after dark. I watched two men stumble across the dance floor, arms entwined, faces slack with boredom. The pianist plowed through a joylessly jaunty tune, the musical equivalent of a man dancing at gunpoint. My drinking companion grinned.

What I’m trying to get across is, we all suffer feelings of loss and despair when grieving for a friend or relative that has transitioned, but after learning and knowing that no one that goes home is “lost”, but is right where they should be, it means that we often create our own victimhood by retreating into an all-encompassing state of grief.

What is needed is not that a religion be true, meaning that what it claims exist beyond the ink it is written with in a holy book. That is hard to prove. What is important is that a religion be a good system to help us mere mortal deal with our short and troubled life in the universe. Whether what we hope for in the afterlife materializes or not is not important, what is important is that we believe it will materialize and that gives us hope.

What is the point of our lives? There isn't any. I can't seem to decide how much horror and how much joy lies within that simple truth, but I know it is both of those things at once.

What's the point of the afterlife if it's so much like being alive?

What’s it gonna be like, dying? To go to sleep and never, never, never wake up. Well, a lot of things it’s not gonna be like. It’s not going to be like being buried alive. It’s not going to be like being in the darkness forever. I tell you what — it’s going to be as if you never had existed at all. Not only you, but everything else as well. That just there was never anything, there’s no one to regret it — and there’s no problem. Well, think about that for a while — it’s kind of a weird feeling when you really think about it, when you really imagine. [The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are ]

What's afterlife?" Asher asked, sincerely, indicating a trio of passing shoppers laden with brightly colored bags, who turned up their noses. "There's only life.

When I came out into the outside room again, I saw her shoe still lying there, where it had come off in the course of our brief wrestle. It looked so pathetic there by itself without an owner, it looked so lonely, it looked so empty. Something made me pick it up arid take it in to her. Like when someone's going away, you help them on with their coat, or their jackboots, or whatever it is they need for going away. I didn't try to put it back on her, I just set it down there beside her close at hand. You're going to need this, I said to her in my mind. You're starting on a long walk. You're going to keep walking from now on, looking for your home. I stopped and wondered for a minute if that was what happened to all of us when we crossed over. Just keep walking, keep on walking, with no ahead and no in-back-of; tramps, vagrants in eternity. With our last hope and horizon - death - already taken away. In the Middle Ages they had lurid colors, a bright red hell, an azure heaven shot with gold stars. They knew where they were, at least. They could tell the difference. We, in the Twentieth, we just have the long walk, the long walk through the wispy backward-stringing mists of eternity, from nowhere to nowhere, never getting there, until you're so tired you almost wish you were alive again. ("Life Is Weird Sometimes" - first chapter of unpublished novel THE LOSER)

When he finally fell asleep, his dreams contained no stories at all, but only the hard stones of thoughts: the unimaginably unlikely coincidence of being alive at the same time as the love of your life, the frequency with which a person was expected to bear the body and the burden of someone else, the idiocy of thinking that kindness can protect the person who is kind, and worst of all, the bottomless pit of a truth that he had suddenly, sickeningly seen: that the world to come that his parents had always talked about was not an afterlife at all, but simply this world, to come--the future world, your own future, that you were creating for yourself with every choice you made in it.