Alcuin Quotes

All rivers, even the most dazzling, those that catch the sun in their course, all rivers go down to the ocean and drown. And life awaits man as the sea awaits the river.

My mission is to kill time, and time's to kill me in its turn. How comfortable one is among murderers.

All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again.

Fear no more the heat o' th' sun Nor the furious winters' rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Most of the things we spend our lives chasing will turn to dust in the end.

I feel myself driven towards an end that I do not know. As soon as I shall have reached it, as soon as I shall become unnecessary, an atom will suffice to shatter me. Till then, not all the forces of mankind can do anything against me.

All things are subject to decay and when fate summons, monarchs must obey.

Time is the king of all men, he is their parent and their grave, and gives them what he will and not what they crave.

As much as we'd like to think life is sacred, there's not a lot of evidence for that. The universe is maddeningly casual, giving and taking it.

You can't even kill yourself if it isn't your time to go. People have no control whatsoever over what happens to them, and they are beginning to realize this. The future lies in the time of living. Your doing something will get you into tomorrow, if you want to call it tomorrow. If you want to make those distinctions at all.

Nothing is the destiny of everyone, it is our commonness made dumb.

Even Castles made of sand, fall into the sea, eventually.

I mean, whatever kills you kills you, and your death is authentic no matter how you die.

What is life? A madness. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough; for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams.

The glories of our blood and state, Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate, Death lays his icy hand on kings. Scepter and crown must tumble down, And, in the dust, be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

There's nothing glorious in dying. Anyone can do it.

I live now on borrowed time, waiting in the anteroom for the summons that will inevitably come. And then - I go on to the next thing, whatever it is. One doesn't, luckily, have to bother about that.

The world rolls round forever like a mill; it grinds out death and life and good and ill; it has no purpose, heart or mind or will.

We try, we fail, we posture, we aspire, we pontificate - and then we age, shrink, die, and vanish.

Life is tragic simply because the earth turns and the sun inexorably rises and sets, and one day, for each of us, the sun will go down for the last, last time.

Oh, how swiftly the glory of the world passes away!

Whatever fortune has raised to a height, she has raised only to cast it down.

One is still what one is going to cease to be and already what one is going to become. One lives one's death, one dies one's life.

Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness, and dies by chance.

Regarding life, the wisest men of all ages have judged alike: it is worthless.