Philip K. Dick Quotes

We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus!

Since every man who lives is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims to the' appointed place we tend; The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.

Our lives are but our marches to the grave.

Life is a predicament which precedes death.

Why should I ask the wise men: Whence is my beginning? I am busy with the thought: Where will be my end?

I may have won the only important lotto ever, which is life, but I am still going to die. We all are.

Life on earth, filled with uncertainty and change, seemed far more difficult than what lay beyond the grave.

Wanderers eastward, wanderers west, Know you why you cannot rest? 'Tis that every mother's son Travails with a skeleton. Lie down in the bed of dust; Bear the fruit that bear you must; Bring the eternal seed to light, And morn is all the same as night.

Life is a disease, brother, and death begins already at birth. Every breath, every heartbeat, is a moment of dying - a little shove toward the end.

Madam Life's a piece in bloom Death goes dogging everywhere: she's the tenant of the room, he's the ruffian on the stair.

Life is a tragedy, one way or another. What is certain is that you die.

I love Death because he breaks the human pattern and frees us from pleasures too prolonged as well as from the pains of this world. It is pleasant, too, to remember that Death lies in our hands; he must come if we call him. ... I think if there were no death, life would be more than flesh and blood could bear.

At the door of life by the gate of breath, There are worse things waiting for men than death.

Death is the only mystery we all solve.

You will die not because you're ill, but because you're alive.

We are all dying of life.

Life and death do not wait for legal action.

My life closed twice before its close

Life is a long drawn out lie, with a sniffling sigh at the end of it.

I will be dying and so will you, and so will everyone here. That's what I want to explore. We're all hurtling towards death, yet here we are for the moment, alive. Each of us knowing we're going to die, each of us secretly believing we won't.

Every life is punctuated by deaths and departures, and each one causes great suffering that it is better to endure rather than forgo the pleasure of having known the person who has passed away. Somehow our world rebuilds itself after every death, and in any case we know that none of us will last forever. So you might say that life and death lead us by the hand, firmly but tenderly.

And he isn't crying for her, not for his grandma, he's crying for himself: that he: too, is going to die one day. And before that his friends wil die, and the friends of his friends, and, as time passes, the children of his friends, and, if his fate is truly bitter, his own children. (58)

What can I say about life? Do I praise it for letting you live, or damn it for allowing the rest?