Joan D. Vinge Quotes

Pain and death are part of life. To reject them is to reject life itself.

Life is a predicament which precedes death.

Ultimately life is disease, death and oblivion. It's still better than high school.

Sickness, insanity and death were the angels that surrounded my cradle and they have followed me throughout my life.

Death is the king of this world: 'Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.

Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness, and dies by chance.

One half of my life has put the other half in the grave.

Don't look forward to the day you stop suffering, because when it comes you'll know you're dead.

Dying is a tough way to make a living.

Even if you live to be a ripe old age, you live long enough to see the people you love pass away.

What need is there to weep over parts of life? The whole of it calls for tears.

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

The living is not perfect because it is liable to change; the dead is not perfect because it does not live.

We are all going to die one day. Everything else, my friend, I am not sure.

Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning.

Life is a tragedy, one way or another. What is certain is that you die.

I love Death because he breaks the human pattern and frees us from pleasures too prolonged as well as from the pains of this world. It is pleasant, too, to remember that Death lies in our hands; he must come if we call him. ... I think if there were no death, life would be more than flesh and blood could bear.

At the door of life by the gate of breath, There are worse things waiting for men than death.

Count no mortal fortunate till he has departed this life free from pain.

To be alive at all is to have scars.

The lot of man-to suffer and die.

There is no fair in life and death. If it were, no good men would die young.

Since every man who lives is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims to the' appointed place we tend; The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.