Richard McKenna Quotes

Though it be in the power of the weakest arm to take away life, it is not in the strongest to deprive us of death.

Land and sea, weakness and decline are great separators, but death is the great divorcer for ever.

In his state of complete powerlessness the individual perceives the time he has left to live as a brief reprieve.

I think about dying. I've come to realize we all die alone in one way or another.

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.

The sparrow still falls.

Happens to everybody. Horses, dogs, men. Nobody gets out of life alive.

Become dust - and they will throw thee in the air; Become stone - and they will throw thee on glass.

Life is anything that dies when you stomp on it.

We enter the world alone, we leave the world alone.

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

But learn that to die is a debt we must all pay.

Everything that we love will, at some point, be taken away from us. If I think about everyone I love eventually being taken away from me by death, or simply by getting lost from each other in the world, it makes me value them much more now.

Whether people be of high or low birth, rich or poor, old or young, enlightened or confused, they are all alike in that they will one day die.

The moment you're born you're done for.

The supreme irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out of it alive.

I hate Sridevi. I hate her for making me realise that she, too, is finally only just a human being. I hate that her heart, too, has to beat to live.

Life and death are matters of the God. I can be killed even at home.

The amazing miracle of death, when one second you're walking and talking, and the next second you're an object.

The only certainty life contains is death.

The Indian who was laid under a curse, that the wind should not blow on him, nor water flow to him, nor fire burn him, is a type of us all. The dearest events are summer-rain, and we the Para coats that shed every drop. Nothing is left us now but death. We look to that with a grim satisfaction, saying, there at least is reality that will not dodge us.

Death! Strange that there should be such a word, and such a thing, and we ever forget it; that one should be living, warm and beautiful, full of hopes, desires and wants, one day, and the next be gone, utterly gone, and forever!

Only death reveals what a nothing the body of man is.

But everyone disappears, no matter who loves them.

Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must.