Man comes from a drop of semen and leaves as a piece of dust. He doesn't know when he came and he doesn't know when he's leaving, yet he walks on the earth thinking he knows everything.
Birth, life, and death― each took place on the hidden side of a leaf.
Life is like a very short visit to a toy shop between birth and death.
There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval.
Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.
As a well spent day brings happy sleep, so life well used brings happy death.
After your death you will be what you were before your birth.
There would be no chance at all of getting to know death if it happened only once. But fortunately, life is nothing but a continuing dance of birth and death, a dance of change. Every time I hear the rush of a mountain stream, or the waves crashing on the shore, or my own heartbeat, I hear the sound of impermanence. These changes, these small deaths, are our living links with death. They are death's pulses, death's heartbeat, prompting us to let go of all the things we cling to.
Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.
Listen to the cry of a woman in labor at the hour of giving birth - look at the dying man's struggle at his last extremity, and then tell me whether something that begins and ends thus could be intended for enjoyment.
The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity.
There are only three events in a man's life; birth, life, and death; he is not conscious of being born, he dies in pain, and he forgets to live.
Intellectual growth should commence at birth and cease only at death.
As we look deeply within, we understand our perfect balance. There is no fear of the cycle of birth, life and death. For when you stand in the present moment, you are timeless.
There are but three events which concern man: birth, life and death. They are unconscious of their birth, they suffer when they die, and they neglect to live.
Life that crawled, life that slunk and crept and never closed its eyes. Life that burrowed and scurried, and life so still it was indistinguishable from the ivy stems on which it lay. Birth, life, and death - each took place on the hidden side of a leaf.
There are three great events in our lives: birth, life and death. Of birth we have no conscience; with death, we suffer; and, concerning life, we forget to live it.
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