Rachel Weisz Quotes

All Gods were immortal.

Happier are all men than the dwellers in Faerie – or the gods, for that matter…Better a life like a falling star, bright across the dark, than a deathlessness that can see naught above or beyond itself…the day draws nigh when Faerie shall fade, the Erlking himself shrink to a woodland sprite and then to nothing, and the gods go under. And the worst of it is, I cannot believe it wrong that the immortals will not live forever.

Man may live and man may die searching for the question why. But if he tries to rule the sky, he must fall.

The gods, the immortals, were the inventors of death and corruption; yet with one or two notable exceptions they have lacked the courage to try their invention out on themselves.

The unreal is more powerful than the real, because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it, because it's only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles, wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on.

Therefore, if the gods are immortal and eternal, what need is there of the other sex, when they themselves do not require succession, since they are always about to exist?

Who apart from the gods is without pain for his whole lifetime's length?

The gods, if they exist, are just the people who happen to live on the other side.

Who, except the gods, can live time through forever without any pain?

If you die, you're not a failure.

Before my stroke, I thought I was infallible, because I was physically strong, and could do these endless hours with no effects, whatsoever. But sooner or later, we all hit a wall.

I was unbeatable - until I wasn't.

Many an ancient lord's last words have been, 'You can't kill me because I've got magic aaargh.'

How can He be perfect? Everything He ever makes...dies.

Man wasn't made to share the universe with gods. Their ways are not meant for the humble likes of us. But we've decoded some of their secrets regardless. Like worms, we've grabbed on to the talons of eagles and learned some small truths and means of flight. But we can never really fly. We try, and succeed to a certain extent, but the fall is always - will always be - there.

Who knows if the gods above will add tomorrow's span to this day's sum?

When gods die, they always die many sorts of death.

How men envy and often hate these warm clocks, these wives, who know they will live forever. So what do we do? We men turn terribly mean, because we can't hold to the world or ourselves or anything. We are blind to continuity, all breaks down, falls, melts, stops, rots, or runs away. So, since we cannot shape Time, where does that leave men? Sleepless. Staring.

Akhlys lunged at Percy, and for a split second he thought: Well, hey, I’m just smoke. She can’t touch me, right? He imagined the Fates up in Olympus, laughing at his wishful thinking: LOL, NOOB!

What if I fall?', Tim cried. Maerlyn laughed. 'Sooner or later, we all do.

Gods are what people worship. Men are what die.

Gods, that never change their state, vary oft their love and hate.

The fable runs that the gods mix our pains and pleasure in one cup, and thus mingle for us the adulterate immortality which we alone are permitted here to enjoy. Voluptuous raptures, could we prolong these at pleasure, would dissipate and dissolve us. A sip is the most that mortals are permitted from any goblet of delight.

Think not to match yourself against the gods, for men that walk the earth cannot hold their own with the immortals.