Thomas Gray Quotes

Man's life is short; and therefore an honorable death is his immortality.

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain

Death hath a thousand doors to let out life: I shall find one.

Death is with you all the time; you get deeper in it as you move towards it, but it's not unfamiliar to you. It's always been there, so what becomes unfamiliar to you when you pass away from the moment is really life.

I condemn the dust of which I am made, this dust that speaks to you now. It can be persecuted, it can be brought to death. But I challenge the world to take from me that part of me which will live through the centuries and survive in the skies

We are tiny flames, Helikaon, and we flicker alone in the great dark for no more than a heartbeat. When we strive for wealth, glory and fame, it is meaningless. The nations we fight for will one day cease to be. Even the mountains we gaze upon will crumble to dust. To truly live we must yearn for that which does not die.

Death, that final evil, is one of the paths to eternity. Endless life in the conditions of our existence would be a nightmare.

Who that hath ever been Could bear to be no more? Yet who would tread again the scene He trod through life before?

There is one who remembers the way to your door: Life you may evade, but Death you shall not.

It is not dying, but living, that is a preparation for Death.

So when I'm killed, don't wait for me, Walking the dim corridor; In Heaven or Hell, don't wait for me, Or you must wait for evermore. You'll find me buried, living-dead In these verses that you've read.

What's so noble about being dead?

When we are dead; rugs are no richer than a quick-thorn bed.

Death is the end of all life in the individual or the thing; if physical, the crumbling of the body into dust from whence it came. He who lives not uprightly, dies completely in the crumbling of the physical body, but he who lives well, transforms himself from that which is mortal, to immortal.

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

Of all the gods, Death only craves not gifts: Nor sacrifice, nor yet drink-offering poured Avails; no altars hath he, nor is soothed By hymns of praise. From him alone of all The powers of heaven Persuasion holds aloof.

In greatness, life and death merge.

What is death to me? I have sown the seeds others will reap.

Of all the pulpits from which human voice is ever sent forth, there is none from which it reaches so far as from the grave.

Death! It is rest to the aged, it is oblivion to the atheist, it is immortality to the poet!

There are remedies for all things but death.

There is no God found stronger than death; and death is a sleep.

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?

The mortal nature is seeking as far as is possible to be everlasting and immortal: and this is only to be attained by generation, because the new is always left in the place of the old.