Life is hard. Then you die. Then they throw dirt in your face. Then the worms eat you. Be grateful it happens in that order.
Life is apogee, apex, decline; life is death - and everything else is open to discussion.
We are bits of energy floating about in various guises, and when we die we rejoin the big cosmic soup of the universe.
Death means change our clothes. Clothes become old, then time to come change. So this body become old, and then time come, take young body.
You live you die and death not ends it.
I died from a mineral and plant became, Died from the plant, took a sentient frame; Died from the beast, donned a human dress - When by my dying did I ever grow less.
In my beginning is my end.
And so they are ever returning to us, the dead.
The two moments are much alike: birth and death are made of the same fabric.
Man and animals are in reality vehicles and conduits of food, tombs of animals, hostels of Death, coverings that consume, deriving life by the death of others.
When you die, it will not be because you are sick, but because you were alive.
Day buries day; month, month; and year the year: Our life is but a chain of many deaths.
At physical death man loses his consciousness of the flesh and becomes conscious of his astral body in the astral world. Thus physical death is astral birth. Later, he passes from the consciousness of luminous astral birth to the consciousness of dark astral death and awakens in a new physical body. Thus astral death is physical birth. These recurrent cycles of physical and astral encasements are the ineluctable destiny of all unenlightened men.
Let the dead bury the dead, your time will come.
Death is contagious; it is contracted the moment we are conceived.
Death swallows death.
We seem wired to grieve with greenery. Allowing the dead to dissolve into the earth, to become part of the cycle of the seasons, has, for millennia, held the promise of cheating mortality.
The worlds in which man is evolving as he treads the circle of births and deaths are three: the physical world, the astral or intermediate world, the mental or heavenly world.
When a daffadill I see, Hanging down his head towards me, Guess I may, what I must be: First, I shall decline my head; Secondly, I shall be dead: Lastly, safely buryed.
I knew it. I knew it. Born in a hotel room - and God damn it - died in a hotel room.
Every night death came, slowly, painfully, and every morning Maddox awoke in bed, knowing he'd have to die again later. That was his greatest curse and his eternal punishment.
when I become death. Death is the seed from which I grow.
The cycle of life is death, decomposition and regeneration, and a person who wants to stop killing animals is actually anti-life because it's only in death that life can be regenerated.
We carry the dead with us only until we die too, and then it is we who are borne along for a little while, and then our bearers in their turn drop, and so on into the unimaginable generations.
I think animals should be free. There's so much other food out there that doesn't have to involve you in that cycle of pain and death.
