Richard Paul Evans Quotes

We will all, someday, experience death, and become obsolete as a dead leaf falling from a tree, crushed by passersby to ashes underlying the earth.

When one's dead, one's dead... This squirrel will become earth all in his time. And still later on, there'll grow new trees from him, with new squirrels skipping about in them. Do you think that's so very sad?

Man appears for a little while to laugh and weep, to work and play, and then to go to make room for those who shall follow him in the never-ending cycle.

When you really deep down look at it, we go to bed every night, get up every morning, stay here for 70 or 80 years, and then we die.

A mass of dust, world's momentary slave, Is man, in state of our old Adam made, Soon born to die, soon flourishing to fade.

This life at best is but an inn, And we the passengers.

For every person who has ever lived there has come, at last, a spring he will never see. Glory then in the springs that are yours.

They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.

The drama of life begins with a wail and ends with a sigh.

The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon.

Such is life and life is such and after all it isn't much. First a cradle. Then a hearse. It might have been better, but it could have been worse.

Do what you think is right, because one damn thing is an absolute, certainly: We come and go. Politicians are a dime a dozen.

What, then, remains but that we still should cry, For being born, and, being born, to die?

And what's a life? - a weary pilgrimage, Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage With childhood, manhood, and decrepit age.

Man, like a light in the night, is kindled and put out.

We are an episode between two oblivions.

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

A person is a process, one that leads to death.

We die, because we live.

All human beings are like travelers floating down the eternal river of time, embarking at a certain point and disembarking again at another point in order to make room for others waiting below the river to come aboard.

What is life? It departs covertly. Like a thief Death took him.

We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it is forever.

A generation of men is like a generation of leaves; the wind scatters some leaves upon the ground, while others the burgeoning wood brings forth - and the season of spring comes on. So of men one generation springs forth and another ceases.

In fact living is dying.