George Meredith Quotes

Weakness is constant strain and misery: weakness is death.

The sparrow still falls.

The first of the line is tied to a tree and the last is being eaten by the ants .

Whether it's a Christian or a non-Christian, there's nothing like suffering to show us how small, needy, and not in control we are. Suffering has a way of sobering us up to the realization that we can't make it on our own, that we need help, that we're broken.

Nature is one great big wood-chipper. Sooner or later, everything shoots out the other end in a spray of blood, bones and hair.

Life is an incurable disease.

It is possible to provide security against other ills, but as far as death is concerned, we men live in a city without walls.

I'm just a guy. If you hit me, I hurt, and if you cut me, I bleed.

I seem to be the only person in the world who doesn't mind being pitied. If you love me, pity me. The human state is pitiable: born to die, capable of so much, accomplishing so little; killing instead of creating, destroying instead of building, hating instead of loving. Pitiful, pitiful.

No one laughs at God in a hospital.

This is the danger of loving: No matter how powerful you are, no matter how many kingdoms you rule, you cannot stop those you love from dying.

We're all of us equally naked before the jaws of pain.

The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed.

I reach out and grab her wrist. It feels impossibly tiny in my hand, like this one time I found a baby bird near goose Point, and I picked it up and it died there, taking its final gasping fluttering breaths in my palm.

When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?

I’m not brave any more darling. I’m all broken. They’ve broken me.

Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we're opened, we're red.

Whatever is truly alive must die. Look at the flowers; only plastic flowers never die.

Yossarian was cold, too, and shivering uncontrollably. He felt goose pimples clacking all over him as he gazed down despondently at the grim secret Snowden had spilled all over the messy floor. It was easy to read the message in his entrails. Man was matter, that was Snowden's secret. Drop him out a window and he'll fall. Set fire to him and he'll burn. Bury him and he'll rot, like other kinds of garbage. The spirit gone, man is garbage. That was Snowden's secret. Ripeness was all. I'm cold,' Snowden said. 'I'm cold.

Kneecaps only exist to get hit with claw-hammers; grace only exists to be fallen from.

It's quite sad to see how many people I've known over that years that just die off, you know like wilted flowers. Well, there's something to be said for flowers in the dustbin.

My flesh was burning where the skin was scraped off my knees, and I was afraid that I couldn't be alive anymore with so much pain, and at the same time I knew I was alive because it hurt. I was afraid that death would find its way into me through this open knee and I quickly covered my knee with my hands.

It is the way of mortals. They fling themselves at life and emerge broken.