Best 657 quotes in «life and death quotes» category

Sure, cried the tenant men, but it's our land. We measured it and broke it up. We were born on it, and we got killed on it, died on it. Even if it's no good, it's still ours. That's what makes it ours-being born on it, working it, dying on it.

Swiftly the remembrance of all things is buried in the gulf of eternity.

Te leven betekent strikt genomen niets anders dan dag voor dag zelfmoord op te schuiven.

That also which before was from the earth, passes back into the earth, and that which was sent from the borders of ether, is carried back and taken in again by the quarters of heaven. Death does not extinguish things in such a way as to destroy the bodies of matter, but only breaks up the union amongst them, and then joins anew the different elements with others; and thus it comes to pass that all things change their shapes and alter their colors and receive sensations and in a moment yield them up...

That night in bed I was thinking about the way creeks and streams operate. They start off little, gurgling and bubbling and jumping over rocks and stuff, full of energy, going all over the place. Then they get older and bigger, become rivers, take a more definite course, stick to their path, know where they're going, get slower and wider. And eventually they reach the ocean and become part of this vast mysterious world of water that stretches away forever. Yep, just like people.

That's all any of us have in the end, isn't it? there is death ahead of all of us. And so we live.

The afterlife? Why do you think that you deserve another life? Have you done a great job with this one?" - On the Afterlife

The bell tolling not for us, it’s time for bluebells.

The antidote to lifelong grief and suffering is a willingness to keep an open mind about everything.

The choice you make between hating and forgiving can be the story of your life

The cicadas buzzing, I can hear them through the window. Buzzing louder and louder. Just like the night I sat by the window in the dark, gasping for air, feeling the riddle wriggling in my chest, hearing the monster's heavy footsteps in my ears. And suddenly I know. What they do all those years living in the ground. The nymphs who are to become cicadas. Maybe they don’t know it themselves, but they are writing their song. Collecting the notes in the dark earth. The song rising to the sky, this is how it is, this is how it always is. The song floating toward the sky comes from the underworld.

The circumstances surrounding your birth are not as important as the opportunity to live life.

The days of our lives, for all of us, are numbered...We know that. And yes, there are certainly times when we aren't able to muster as much strength and patience as we would like. It's called being human. But I have found that in the simple act of living with hope, and in the daily effort to have a positive impact in the world, the days I do have are made all the more meaningful and precious. And for that I am grateful.

The contented person finds rest in death, and for the greedy person, death puts an end to his long list of desires.

The dead only knows their world.

The dead tread softly... And those stalking the living tread even more lightly.

The day you are born is the day you start dying

The greatest fear in life is not of death, but unsolicited change.

The graveyard is the everlasting home of every man.

The earth will always be the same - only cities and history will change, even nations will change, governments and governors will go, the things made by men's hands will go, buildings will always crumble - only the earth will remain the same, there will always be men on the earth in the morning, there will always be the things made by God's hands - and all this history of cities and congress now will go, all modern history is only a littering Babylon smoking under the sun, delaying the day when men again will have to return to earth, to the earth of life and God -

The greatest loss is the lost of life.

The greatest loss is the loss of life.

The hardest thing in life is a man to be honest with himself

The heart never stops even if you stop your breath, Life goes on even if you go through death

The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our separate ways, I to die, and you to live. Which of these two is better only God knows.

Then he looked at Florentino Ariza, his invincible power, his intrepid love, and he was overwhelmed by the belated suspicion that it is life, more than death, that has no limits.

Then he asked me which one I thought was most likely to happen. I wish I knew. I really do. But I don’t. You’d think that after living with these people for fifteen years I’d know a little something about them. But right now I feel like I don’t know my parents at all. I guess when you get down to it, I’ve never really thought about them as people. They’ve always been my parents. Now I have to think about them as people with feelings. What a pain. The funny thing is, I bet they feel the same way.

Then nothing became something, and I was born, and I wrought great havoc in the world in the time allotted to me, and I returned to nothingness

Then there are also the quiet deaths. How about the day you realized you weren't going to be an astronaut or the queen of Sheba? Feel the silent distance between yourself and how you felt as a child, between yourself and those feelings of wonder and splendor and trust. Feel the mature fondness for who you once were, and your current need to protect innocence wherever you make might find it. The silence that surrounds the loss of innocence is a most serious death, and yet it is necessary for the onset of maturity. What about the day we began working not for ourselves, but rather with the hope that our kids have a better life? Or the day we realize that, on the whole, adult life is deeply repetitive? As our lives roll into the ordinary, when our ideals sputter and dissipate, as we wash the dishes after yet another meal, we are integrating death, a little part of us is dying so that another part can live.

The man who dies rich dies disgraced leaving the earth without making it better than he met it. Give to humanity.

The neck in front of her came up. The head swivelled 180 degrees and the horse looked at Kin with bright insectile eyes. 'YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND,' it said inside Kin's head. 'Hell!' 'THOSE ARE NOT MEANINGFUL CO-ORDINATES.

The only promise life fulfills is its end.

The path i walk lights up in flames

The only really frightening thing about Cinnamon Hill belongs in the realm of the living and serves to remind me that some of them-just a few of them, a tiny minority-are much more dangerous than all the dead put together.

The only time that exists in life is now.

The only thing limiting you is yourself.

The place of horror turns out to be no more than a green scoop, sometimes shadowed, sometimes shining with the bilberries and grass within it, as if a mouth had opened from which streamed a beam of light. So my uncle Robert's death, which had looked from a distance to be an all-consuming tragedy was, close-up, the story of a man finding release from his pain and how his brother had showed such defiant love. The past was a grave, a trap - and yet, also neither of these. Just light, coming and going. At the wolf pit you imagine you will stare into a hole littered with bones, but what draws you to that place is not what you take from it. The wolf pit seems a delicate illusion. You walk towards it; there is nothing, just a curve of the moor; then it is a soft green light, and then it is nothing again.

There are many ways in which life's little candle can be snuffed out. A cold wind pursues us all.

There are a few things I've learned over the years. One is that time doesn't stop for anyone; hurdling forward and onward, unstoppable and catastrophic.

There are two important days in your life. The day you discovered you were alive and the day you forgot about it

There are so many ways to live and die, so many ways to tell that same story, over and over, but everyone keeps trying to find a better way to tell it, a more real way to look into someone else's face to say, I am alive like you, was born without my consent like you, will someday die and be dead in the same way you'll be dead. What did we want from this? What did we really want from it?

There are televisions and radios and the sounds of life, but too there is the sound of death, crying and oxygen tanks, and the squeaky wheels on wheelchairs. Like life and death are in a very close proximity to one another.

The reason death sticks so closely to life isn't biological necessity - it's envy. Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it, a jealous, possessive love that grabs at what it can. But life leaps over oblivion lightly, losing only a thing or two of no importance, and gloom is but the passing shadow of a cloud .

...There is a duty of solidarity among all us impossible, near-invisible people: a duty, out of sheer cussedness, not to disappear completely, simply to ease the conscience of the rest.

There is a sadness that only hunters know, a moment when lament overshadows any desire for celebration. Life is sustained by death, and though going to the field is an act of taking responsibility for that fact, the killing is not easy, nor should it be.

There is an end to everything.

There is a profound difference between fighting to avoid death and fighting in order to live. Men who fight to avoid death preserve their dignity and one and all - men, women and children - defend it jealously, tenaciously, fiercely...When men fight to avoid death they cling with a tenacity born of desperation to all that constitutes the living and eternal part of human life, the essence, the noblest and purest element of life: dignity, pride, freedom of conscience. They fight to save their souls. But after the liberation men had to fight in order to live...It is a humiliating, horrible thing, a shameful necessity, a fight for life. Only for life. Only to save one's skin.

There is life and death in all forest, the life will bring you beauty and the dead will bring you new life! Roland R Kemler

There is no book and your fathers are dead in the ground.

The stars are dead, but their memories fill the sky