Marcus Aurelius Quotes

History says, 'Don't hope on this side of the grave.'

Remember that life is short and death is long.

My dear fellow,' Burlingame said, 'we sit here on a blind rock careening through space; we are all of us rushing headlong to the grave. Think you the worms will care, when anon they make a meal of you, whether you spent your moment sighing wigless in your chamber, or sacked the golden towns of Montezuma? Lookee, the day's nigh spent; 'tis gone careening into time forever. Not a tale's length past we lined our bowels with dinner, and already they growl for more. We are dying men, Ebenezer: i'faith, there's time for naught but bold resolves!

Thou art a little soul bearing about a corpse.

We're all terminal; none of us are getting out of this alive.

We all have two things in common, no matter who we are: We were born and we are going to die.

Remember, tomorrow is promised to no one.

We try, we fail, we posture, we aspire, we pontificate - and then we age, shrink, die, and vanish.

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.

You are a little soul carrying around a corpse.

Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.

We civilizations now know ourselves mortal.

It's always been intriguing to me, the loveability of mortality.

Man is like the foam of the sea, that floats upon the surface of the water. When the wind blows, it vanishes, as if it had never been. Thus are our lives blown away by Death.

I think we all lose in the end because we don't get to stay here forever.

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!

We are none of us promised anything but the last breath we take.

Have not all past human beings parted, And must not all the present, one day part?

All who are born are always dying.

Every thing admonishes us how needlessly long life is.

I thought about all of the things that everyone ever says to each other, and how everyone is going to die, whether it's in a millisecond, or days, or months, or 76.5 years, if you were just born. Everything that's born has to die, which means our lives are like skyscrapers. The smoke rises at different speeds, but they're all on fire, and we're all trapped.

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

The Person is a bubble on Time's sea.