Algernon Charles Swinburne Quotes

The thing is to appreciate the fragile wonder of it all, down to the last breath, down to the dying embers of consciousness.

We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

Try to imagine what it will be like to go to sleep and never wake up... now try to imagine what it was like to wake up having never gone to sleep.

Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---"On death

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

There are only three events in a man's life; birth, life, and death; he is not conscious of being born, he dies in pain, and he forgets to live.

What is life? A madness. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough; for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams.

We come. We go. And in between we try to understand.

Life is but a moment, death also is but another.

People always say life is short. I've never been convinced of that - mine seems to have a tendency to go on and on.

Our time on Earth is so random.

I have wondered about time all my life.

Dreams are real as long as they last. Can we say more of life?

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

Sleep - death without dying - living, but not life.

Time is long but life is short.

We come from a dark abyss, we end in a dark abyss, and we call the luminous interval life.

We are occupants. No one has any lasting purchase on life or on the planet.

life is a deep sleep of which love is the dream

One should not believe too strongly in a life which can easily vanish.

Life is but a web spun of ghosts and dreams and illusions.

I am one of billions. I am stardust gathered fleetingly into form. I will be ungathered. The stardust will go on to be other things someday and I will be free.

Life is but a dream for the dead.

But life is short: while one lives, everything is lacking; when one is dead, everything is superfluous.

The task I've been given seems absurd: To wait here on earth until I no longer exist.