Christopher Moore Quotes

I used to believe I was going to live forever. And then you suddenly become aware that you're not.

It was despairing to find out that I am mortal.

Despite all the achievements of civilisation, the human being is still one of the most vulnerable creatures on earth.

Life is tragic. You are tiny and flawed and ignorant and weak, and everything else is huge, complex, and overwhelming.

We are dying, we are dying, piecemeal our bodies are dying and our strength leaves us, and our soul cowers naked in the dark rain over the flood, cowering in the last branches of the tree of our life.

It's easy to forget people are blood and bone. They're not indestructible.

We are fastened to a dying animal.

A human being is only breath and shadow.

I like thinking about the fragility of the human flesh and our bodies - our decay and eventual death.

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

What, if as said, man is a bubble.

It even feels absurd to be writing or singing a song at all - in the context of actual death, being alive feels absurd.

Little fly, thy summer's play My thoughtless hand has brushed away. Am not I a fly like thee? Or art not thou a man like me? For I dance and drink and sing, Till some blind hand shall brush my wing!

We are cut, we are fallen. We are become part of that unfeeling universe that sleeps when we are at our quickest and burns red when we lie asleep.

This life of ours...human life is like a flower gloriously blooming in a meadow: along comes a goat, eats it up---no more flower.

We are nothing but a string of gut on a stick of bone riding this piece of astral soot for one piteous splinter of eternity.

Surely mortal man is a broomstick!

We like to think of life as a constant ... Yet it can be ended in a heartbeat.

Insignificant mortals, who are as leaves are, and now flourish and grow warm with life, and feed on what the ground gives, but then again fade away and are dead.

We're all expendable. We think the world's going to stop when a pope dies, or a king. And then... life goes on.

Lastly, he must remember that he himself hath no exemption from the common lot, but that he is bound by the same laws of mortality, and liable to the same ailments and afflictions with his fellows.

I'm just observing the world. I was born into it, like you were, and then I found out there were some really disturbing aspects to being alive, like the fact that you weren't going to be alive forever - that bothered me.

The conceit of an anchorman is we never think we're going to die, I suppose.

O what is life, if we must hold it thus as wind-blown sparks hold momentary fire?

These things bring you to reality as to how fragile you are; at the same moment you are doing something that nobody else is able to do. The same moment that you are seen as the best, the fastest and somebody that cannot be touched, you are enormously fragile.