Samuel Daniel Quotes

The Bourne Underneath the growing grass, Underneath the living flowers, Deeper than the sound of showers: There we shall not count the hours By the shadows as they pass. Youth and health will be but vain, Beauty reckoned of no worth: There a very little girth Can hold round what once the earth Seemed too narrow to contain.

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

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Whatever we try - to be rich, to be happy - death is unavoidable. It doesn't matter how much money you have; it doesn't matter how much love you have. At the end of the day, it's all heading that way.

Let this be my final lesson. Everyone and everything has a time to die.

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!

When my mouth shall be filled with dust, and the worm shall feed, and feed sweetly upon me, when the ambitious man shall have no satisfaction if the poorest alive tread upon him, nor the poorest receive any contentment in being made equal to princes, for they shall be equal but in dust.

Hodie mihi cras tibi, said the inscription. Sic transit gloria mundi. My turn today, yours tomorrow. And thus passes away the glory of the world.

And I despise your books, I despise wisdom and the blessings of this world. It is all worthless, fleeting, illusory, and deceptive, like a mirage. You may be proud, wise, and fine, but death will wipe you off the face of the earth as though you were no more than mice burrowing under the floor, and your posterity, your history, your immortal geniuses will burn or freeze together with the earthly globe.

Most of the things we spend our lives chasing will turn to dust in the end.

We brought nothing into this world and it's certain we can carry nothing out.

This world is nothing. An illusion. Death is the release.

Nothing can happen more than once, but everything must happen one day; Over hill and dale, wood and stream, my dying voice will blow away. . .

Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!

A manpossessesnothing certainlysavea brief loanof his own body.

Flowers are without hope. Because hope is tomorrow and flowers have no tomorrow.

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.

Must not all things at the last be swallowed up in death?

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

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

There is no more final end than death.

Death is a very dull, dreary affair, and my advice to you is to have nothing whatsoever to do with it.

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

But only a brief moment is granted to the brave one breath or two, whose wage is the long nights of the grave.