'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; 'tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter and intimates eternity to man.
What springs from earth dissolves to earth again, and heaven-born things fly to their native seat.
Whatsoever that be within us that feels, thinks, desires, and animates, is something celestial, divine, and, consequently, imperishable.
Nothing short of an eternity could enable men to imagine, think, and feel, and to express all they have imagined, thought and felt.—Immortality, which is the spiritual desire, is the intellectual necessity.
On the imagination God sometimes paints, by dream and symbol, the likeness of things to come.—What the foolish-wise call fanaticism, belongs to the same part of us as hope.—Each is the yearning of the soul for the great "Beyond," which attests our immortality.
We are born for a higher destiny than that of earth.—There is a realm where the rainbow never fades, where the stars will be spread out before us like islands that slumber on the ocean, and where the beings that pass before us like shadows, will stay in our presence forever.
Man only of all earthly creatures, asks, "Can the dead die forever?"—and the instinct that urges the question is God's answer to man, for no instinct is given in vain.
I feel my immortality o'ersweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears; and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears this truth—thou livest forever!
Immortality is the glorious discovery of Christianity.
When I consider the wonderful activity of the mind, so great a memory of what is past, and such a capacity of penetrating into the future; when I behold such a number of arts and sciences, and such a multitude of discoveries thence arising, I believe and am firmly persuaded that a nature which contains so many things within itself cannot but be immortal.
A voice within us speaks that startling word, "Man, thou shaft never die!" Celestial voices hymn to our souls; according harps, by angel fingers touched, do sound forth still the song of great immortality.
The old, old fashion—death! Oh, thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet—of immortality!
One short sleep past, we wake eternally, and death shall be no more.
The thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man; we naturally aim at happiness, and cannot bear to have it confined to our present being.
Our dissatisfaction with any other solution is the blazing evidence of immortality.
We are much better believers in immortality than we can give grounds for.—The real evidence is too subtle, or is higher than we can write down in propositions.
As often as I hear of some undeserved wretchedness, my thoughts rest on that world where all will be made straight, and where the labors of sorrow will end in joy.
Those who live in the Lord never see each other for the last time.
Those who hope for no other life are dead even for this.
For the great hereafter I trust in the infinite love of God as expressed in the life and death of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
Most of those who deny the immortality of the soul, only maintain this opinion because they wish it. But in the height of their sinful pleasures, the truth which stares them in the face, begins on earth that punishment, to the fullness of which they are doomed hereafter.
How gloomy would be the mansions of the dead to him who did, not know that he should never die; that what now acts, shall continue its agency, and what now thinks, shall think on forever.
The seed dies into a new life, and so does man.
We do not believe in immortality because we have proved it, but, we forever try to prove it because we believe it.
The belief of a future state is a troublesome check on human passions, and one can never make libertines tranquil and resolute without having first made them unbelievers.
The spirit of man, which God inspired, cannot together perish with this corporeal clod.
Without a belief in personal immortality religion is like an arch resting on one pillar, or like a bridge ending in an abyss.
The dust goes to its place, and man to his own.—It is then I feel my immortality.—I look through the grave into heaven.—I ask no miracle, no proof, no reasoning, for me.—I ask no risen dust to teach me immortality.—I am conscious of eternal life.
Every natural longing has its natural satisfaction.—If we thirst, God has created liquids to gratify thirst.—If we are susceptible of attachment, there are beings to gratify our love.—If we thirst for life and love eternal, it is likely that there are an eternal life and an eternal love to satisfy that craving.
Not all the subtilties of metaphysics can make me doubt a moment of the immortality of the soul, and of a beneficent providence. I feel it, I believe it, I desire it, I hope it, and will defend it to my last breath.
Immortality is the greatness of our being; the scene for attaining the fullness and perfection of our existence.
All men's souls are immortal, but the souls of the righteous are both immortal and divine.
The creator made us to be the image of his own eternity, and in the desire for immortality we feel we have sure proof of our capacity for it.
Faith in the hereafter is as necessary for the intellectual, as for the moral character; and to the man of letters, as well as the Christian, the present forms but the slightest portion of his existence.
The date of human life is too short to recompense the cares which attend the most private condition; therefore it is that our souls are made, as it were, too big for it, and extend themselves in the prospect of a longer existence.
How happens it that the pure and holy have such firm confidence in the immortality of the soul? Do they not by a deeper instinct or intuition, recognize their spirituality, and feel that they belong more to spirit than to flesh—more to eternity than to time?
The belief that we shall never die is the foundation of our dying well.
The monuments of the nations are all protests against nothingness after death; so are statues and inscriptions; so is history.
A man really looking onward to an immortal life, on whatever grounds, exhibits to us the human soul in an ennobled attitude.
Seems it strange that thou shouldst live forever? Is it less strange that thou shouldst live at all?—This is a miracle; and that no more.
Can it be? matter immortal? and shall spirit die? above the nobler, shall less nobler rise? shall man alone, for whom all else revives, no resurrection know? shall man alone, imperial man! be sown in barren ground, less privileged than grain, on which he feeds?
It is immortality, and that alone, which amid life's pains, abasements, the soul can comfort, elevate, and fill.