Best 657 quotes in «life and death quotes» category

I was worse off than even Alison was; she hated life, I hated mysef. I had created nothing, I belonged to nothingness, to the néant, and it seemed to me that my own death was the only thing left that I could create.

I watch and listen, helpless to help. There is no point in saying ‘This, too, shall pass.’ For a time, we do not even want it to pass. We hold on to grief, fearing that its lifting will be the final betrayal.

I will survive: if the hell rejects me, there is always the paradise.

I would like to disagree. I would like to argue. But that’s the problem with the dead. You can’t fight with them, you can’t reason with them, you can’t prove them wrong or yourself right, beg them to choose you, to stay with you, to love you more than death. They are gone. They have left only a big black ugly gash where their beautiful vibrant selves used to be. They no longer give a shit.

Jumping out of a perfectly good air plane is like driving through life without a good set of brakes.

Just when the question of how to live had become clearer to him, a new insoluble problem presented itself - Death.

Kematian selalu menyisakan kesedihan bagi yang ditinggalkan. Apalagi bila kematian itu datang dengan cara yang tak wajar.

Ki ruházta rád a felelősséget? Ki adott bölcsességet, hogy tudd, kinek kell élnie, és kinek kell meghalnia, és milyen úton-módon? Ki vagy te, hogy tudd, mi jár Isten fejében?

Laughter and books and wine are holy things; and living is good; and death is a breathlessness with the whole adventure of finding everywhere the traces of one great beauty...

La edad es una ladrona implacable. Justo cuando empiezas a tomar el pulso a la vida te arranca la fuerza de las piernas y te encorva la espalda.Produce dolores y enturbia la cabeza y silenciosamente infesta a tu mujer de cáncer.

La femme au foulard m'est devenue indispensable. Toute cette hygiène de ne rien espérer est peut-être un peu ridicule. Ne rien espérer de la vie, pour ne pas la risquer; se considérer comme mort, pour ne pas mourir.

Learn to handle books, you will learn how to enjoy life.

Life even at its tiniest molecule is impermanent, transient, unsure and fickle. We try to make it worthwhile not by adding value to it but by improving our social perception, seeking validation in our interactional circles. Life cannot be valued for in the end, rich or poor, smart or dumb, popular or hermit, we are nothing but dust, vapor, blurry memories that eventually are soon forgotten.

Life dared the silence of the world and to punish it death was born. - The Genesis of Life

Life dies but forever will there be music. Always.

Life exists to make us stronger than death.

Life does find a way to create a balance somewhere between smiles and tears. And, like a pendulum's swing, life seldom stays in one place. Life keeps on moving until, one day, it stops.

Life is a stampede to get to the top

Life is beautifully tragic. Giving it up isn't the hard part; it's the living part that everyone struggles with.

Life is but a breath. The end of life is the last breath of a man.

Life is defined by time, appreciate the beauty of time.

Life is, enlightenment once again postponded.

Life is but a passing shadow.

Life is existence with meaning

Life is extraordinary, death is not, it is a cessation of life and as such ordinary; empty space is full of it." - On Life and Death

Life is a long travel. The end of the journey is often unpredictable.

Life is a matter of choice, while death is a matter of time.

Life is basically like a soap bubble. It rides on the wind, flying here and there, …And before you realize it, pop! It’s gone. When it’s about to disappear, you think that you could’ve flown a bit higher. But by the time, it’s already too late.

Life is an endless trial and death its certain verdict, but there are many recesses to enjoy before then.

Life is one kind of sound. Death is another kind of sound. Those who cannot hear the sound of death think death is silence. Death is not silence, it is just another kind of sound, but may not within the hearing range of a normal ear.

Life is like water in a glass. Drop by drop the glass empties.

Life is short, we say, in one way or another, but in truth, because we cannot imagine our own death until it is thrust upon us, we live in a land where only other people die.

Life is meaningful; death is meaningless and religion’s greatest betrayal to the humanity is that it gave a meaning to death, it wrongly made the death as meaningful! Declaring an ultimate ‘end’ as a hopeful ‘exit’ to somewhere is the biggest crime of the religion!

Life is measured by - the ones left behind? Or his Faith? By Love? or by the people aside you? Or it has no meaning at all?

Life may suck but death is worse.

Living does not mean passing through a void of nothingness but rather through a web of relationships among beings, each with their own weight and volume and texture. Insofar as everything is always changing, so our sense of hope shall never die out. Therefore, I leave you all with one final thought: Live. Until you are down to your final breath, love and fight and rage and grieve and live.

Live to ask. Die to answer.

Living well is dying well.

Look: each moment is a cradle and a casket: may all life and all death seem strange and new to you.

Look: each moment is a cradle and a casket: may all life and all death seem strange to you.

Loyalty never put blood back in a man's veins.

Losing never come easy. First off, preserved the memories.

Make every day count... Even when you think it's the worst day of your life; for you never know when it'll be your last.

Mourn for the living, the dead have got their camphor gardens.

Maybe we're standing like coins on the edge?" Allie considered this. "Meaning?" "Meaning, we might be able to shake things up a little, and find a way to come up heads." "Or tails," suggested Allie. "What are you talking about?" said Lief. "Life and death.

Media vita in morte sumus

Most of our waking life is make believe. If there was a way to record every dream that crosses our minds, the true nature of humans would be laid bare

Makes me sad looking at the leaves on my vines turning gold and brown, the branches bare of fruit, but I know the leaves and the fruit will return next spring once more. But unlike lost love ,the love of writing,the love of nature ,the love of beauty,the love of life once its lost its lost forever, I hope i never ever lose that love.

Mr. Edwards and the Spider" I saw the spiders marching through the air, Swimming from tree to tree that mildewed day In latter August when the hay Came creaking to the barn. But where The wind is westerly, Where gnarled November makes the spiders fly Into the apparitions of the sky, They purpose nothing but their ease and die Urgently beating east to sunrise and the sea; What are we in the hands of the great God? It was in vain you set up thorn and briar In battle array against the fire And treason crackling in your blood; For the wild thorns grow tame And will do nothing to oppose the flame; Your lacerations tell the losing game You play against a sickness past your cure. How will the hands be strong? How will the heart endure? A very little thing, a little worm, Or hourglass-blazoned spider, it is said, Can kill a tiger. Will the dead Hold up his mirror and affirm To the four winds the smell And flash of his authority? It’s well If God who holds you to the pit of hell, Much as one holds a spider, will destroy, Baffle and dissipate your soul. As a small boy On Windsor Marsh, I saw the spider die When thrown into the bowels of fierce fire: There’s no long struggle, no desire To get up on its feet and fly It stretches out its feet And dies. This is the sinner’s last retreat; Yes, and no strength exerted on the heat Then sinews the abolished will, when sick And full of burning, it will whistle on a brick. But who can plumb the sinking of that soul? Josiah Hawley, picture yourself cast Into a brick-kiln where the blast Fans your quick vitals to a coal— If measured by a glass, How long would it seem burning! Let there pass A minute, ten, ten trillion; but the blaze Is infinite, eternal: this is death, To die and know it. This is the Black Widow, death.

My dearest friend Abigail, These probably could be the last words I write to you and I may not live long enough to see your response but I truly have lived long enough to live forever in the hearts of my friends. I thought a lot about what I should write to you. I thought of giving you blessings and wishes for things of great value to happen to you in future; I thought of appreciating you for being the way you are; I thought to give sweet and lovely compliments for everything about you; I thought to write something in praise of your poems and prose; and I thought of extending my gratitude for being one of the very few sincerest friends I have ever had. But that is what all friends do and they only qualify to remain as a part of the bunch of our loosely connected memories and that's not what I can choose to be, I cannot choose to be lost somewhere in your memories. So I thought of something through which I hope you will remember me for a very long time. I decided to share some part of my story, of what led me here, the part we both have had in common. A past, which changed us and our perception of the world. A past, which shaped our future into an unknown yet exciting opportunity to revisit the lost thoughts and to break free from the libido of our lost dreams. A past, which questioned our whole past. My dear, when the moment of my past struck me, in its highest demonised form, I felt dead, like a dead-man walking in flesh without a soul, who had no reason to live any more. I no longer saw any meaning of life but then I saw no reason to die as well. I travelled to far away lands, running away from friends, family and everyone else and I confined myself to my thoughts, to my feelings and to myself. Hours, days, weeks and months passed and I waited for a moment of magic to happen, a turn of destiny, but nothing happened, nothing ever happens. I waited and I counted each moment of it, thinking about every moment of my life, the good and the bad ones. I then saw how powerful yet weak, bright yet dark, beautiful yet ugly, joyous yet grievous; is a one single moment. One moment makes the difference. Just a one moment. Such appears to be the extreme and undisputed power of a single moment. We live in a world of appearance, Abigail, where the reality lies beyond the appearances, and this is also only what appears to be such powerful when in actuality it is not. I realised that the power of the moment is not in the moment itself. The power, actually, is in us. Every single one of us has the power to make and shape our own moments. It is us who by feeling joyful, celebrate for a moment of success; and it is also us who by feeling saddened, cry and mourn over our losses. I, with all my heart and mind, now embrace this power which lies within us. I wish life offers you more time to make use of this power. Remember, we are our own griefs, my dear, we are our own happinesses and we are our own remedies. Take care! Love, Francis. Title: Letter to Abigail Scene: "Death-bed" Chapter: The Road To Awe