The Epic of Gilgamesh Gilgamesh Quotes

Even though Gilgamesh's words are about how Enkidu is dead, it still doesn't seem like he totally accepts this fact—he is still talking to a dead guy, after all. This becomes even more clear at the end of this passage, when Gilgamesh touches Enkidu's heart—as though he were trying to see if, by some miracle, Enkidu wasn't actually dead. Ancient Sumerians: they're just like us.

This is major, Shmoopers: Gilgamesh is actually changing. For starters, he's shifting from lamenting his friend to lamenting for himself, because he will have to die too someday. This also shows a shift from his attitude near the beginning of the poem (see the first quotation from this section), when he seemed to think that death really wasn't a big deal. But accepting death is the last thing on Gilgamesh's mind at this point. Instead, he is determined to do something about it: he will go see Utanapishtim, the one human being who received immortality. Does Gilgamesh's decision to go see Utanapishtim make sense, or is it just another way of refusing to accept the inevitable?

This is Gilgamesh filling in Siduri, the tavern-keeper in the underworld. What's cool here is the complicated interweaving of feelings of grief over his friend and grief for himself—plus, check out that gritty realism. Maggots!

In other words, two heads are better than one. It sounds like the Babylonians had clichés of their own, because these words, all spoken by Gilgamesh to Enkidu, echo the proverbs spoken by the elders of Uruk in Tablet 3, before they set out on their quest. These proverbs emphasize the practical side of friendship: when people work together, they can accomplish things that individuals cannot.

This is Gilgamesh to Siduri, the underworld innkeeper in the underworld who has just locked Gilgamesh out of her tavern because he looks a total mess. But Gilgamesh defends himself: his friend has just died, so should he really look any different? It's a form of respect to mourn deeply for your friends.

Here, Gilgamesh focuses on how bad losing Enkidu makes him feel about himself. Seeing his friend die makes Gilgamesh all too aware that he, himself, will one day die. Doesn't this raise some questions about friendship? Like, if Gilgamesh is truly devoted to Enkidu, why is he thinking so much about himself? Or is there always an element of selfishness in friendship—because we hang out with people who make us feel good about ourselves?

Wow, Gil, way to let her down gently. Here, Gilgamesh is reacting to Ishtar. Based on the general context of the speech, it's possible that Gilgamesh could be calling Ishtar bad news simply because she has a tendency to abandon her lovers and then inflict horrible suffering on them. That said, given that Gilgamesh is also saying that Ishtar sleeps around (she's "a half-door that keeps out neither breeze nor blast"), we were wondering if he might also be hinting that she has STDs, especially with that whole "pitch that blackens the hands of its bearer" thing. If so, this would show the sexual double-standard that exists in Gilgamesh's society. After all, you don't hear Ishtar calling Gilgamesh immoral, even though he's slept with countless young women of Uruk.

These lines come from Gilgamesh's lamentations over the body of Enkidu. In them, he calls on not only human beings to mourn for Enkidu, but the natural world as well. And not only animals from the natural world, but even inanimate entities, like mountains and hills and pasture lands. What is Gilgamesh thinking when he calls on these entities? Is he just talking metaphorically, or does he really think that these parts of the non-human world will join in mourning for his friend? (And if they do—does anyone make tissues big enough for a weeping pasture?)

Gilgamesh doesn't only call on the human world to lament his friend, but on the natural world as well. Is the idea that he wants the whole world to be lamenting his friend? Note that, in these lines, Gilgamesh also emphasizes some very specific parts of human technology, like butter and beer, and the actions of a harlot who rubbed Enkidu with oil. Based on these details, would you say that Gilgamesh agrees or disagrees with the curse Enkidu placed on the trapper and Shamhat (before the god Shamash helped him change his mind)?

Apparently Shamhat isn't the only one with opinions on what life is all about: Gilgamesh has them too. Here, after Gilgamesh has suggested that he and Enkidu should go to the Cedar Forest to fight Humbaba, Enkidu throws up some pretty valid objections. In response, Gilgamesh says that everyone dies anyway, so the best thing to do is to do dangerous deeds and win undying fame. Fair enough, Gilgamesh—but couldn't the thought that we all die anyway just make us want to preserve our lives all the more carefully, and not risk them in pointless battles with distant monsters?

Here, Gilgamesh is chatting with the Scorpion-beings he meets at the rising of the sun. And, surprise: the whole point of the quest is to gain knowledge about life and death. This makes it sound like he is on a very different quest from the last one he made—to kill the monster Humbaba. But are there similarities? Gilgamesh wanted to kill Humbaba because he thought it would bring him undying fame. Now, he's just looking for a way to escape dying at all. Does Gilgamesh's attitude toward his quest at this point show that he has made progress in the direction of wisdom, or is it simply another side of his ongoing immaturity?

Poor Gilgamesh, scared of a little nightmare. (Okay, not so little. And not just one.) On the journey to the Cedar Forest to fight Humbaba, Gilgamesh is tormented every night by horrible nightmares. Each time, Enkidu is the one who steps in to interpret the dreams in a more favorable light. Do you think Enkidu really believes in the interpretations he puts forward throughout Tablet 4? Or is he just putting a brave face on things, in order to cheer up Gilgamesh? And, either way, who do you think is truly more courageous: Gilgamesh or Enkidu?

After Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh becomes consumed by overpowering fear—the fear of death. Why is death something to be afraid of? Or is this just another example of the fear of the unknown? In that case, it makes sense that Gilgamesh would go on a quest to find out what death is. But Gilgamesh never finds out what death is—because everybody he encounters tells him that nobody knows what death is. So how does he end up overcoming his fear?

In these lines, Gilgamesh explains how he developed the overpowering fear of death that drives him on his quest to find Utanapishtim. It's pretty easy to see how anyone would be scared by what Gilgamesh describes—we at Shmoop just can't get over that whole maggot falling out of the nose thing. That said, why does Gilgamesh end the passage by asking "Am I not like him?" What do you think it was that made Gilgamesh so "terrified by his appearance"?

Why doesn't Gilgamesh eat the plant straightaway? Does he mistrust Utanapishtim? Clearly he trusted him enough to attach stones to his feet and dive down to the bottom of the sea in search of the plant. Is this a case of the devil you know (doing daring deeds) versus the devil you don't know (eating some weird flower)? We don't know. But Gilgamesh's hesitation might show a development in his character, as he becomes more thoughtful and less reckless over the course of his adventures.

Here, we see how important pride is to Gilgamesh at the beginning of the story. First of all, it looks like pride is the whole reason why he wants to go to the Cedar Forest to fight Humbaba. Knowing that humans can't live forever, Gilgamesh is determined to do great deeds that will live on in people's memory after he is dead. But what good is that to him, if he won't be around to appreciate it?

Here, we can see how, even after all his travels and sufferings, Gilgamesh still clings to his pride as a doer of great deeds. But there's a difference. Gilgamesh originally claimed to want to do those deeds so that his fame would live on after his death. But now that doesn't seem good enough for him; now, death seems all too real. How does Gilgamesh's sense of pride change as he comes to accept death in the closing books of the epic?

The end. These are the last lines of the entire epic, when Gilgamesh welcomes Urshanabi, the ferryman of the underworld, to Uruk. Clearly, Gilgamesh takes a lot of pride in his city. But is it the same sort of pride he felt at the beginning of the epic? Notice how Gilgamesh points out that the "Seven Sages themselves" laid out the plan of the city. In other words, Gilgamesh isn't taking credit for all the good stuff in Uruk—he is giving credit where credit is due. How might this change in focus be connected to the main arc of Gilgamesh's character over the course of the epic?

Here we see more signs of Gilgamesh's perseverance. Even though he's totally worn out, he keeps insisting on learning the way forward. If he can cross the sea, fine. If not, he'll find something else to do. Simple as that. The man doesn't know the meaning of the word "impossible."

Gilgamesh explains to Utanapishtim how he's been able to make his journey—bysealing off his emotions—which he describes metaphorically as bolting a door or caulking a ship with "pitch and bitumen" (basically tar). But does this perseverance make Gilgamesh achieve the goal of his quest—to achieve immortal life? Not quite. But maybe he gets something even better.