Quotes About Death

someone looks down on each of Experiences in a Concentration Camp 91 us in difficult hours—a friend, a wife, somebody alive or dead, or a God—and he would not expect us to disappoint him. He would hope to find us suffering proudly—not miserably—knowing how to die.

The task of a philosophy of photography is to reflect upon this possibility of freedom - and thus its significance - in a world dominated by apparatuses; to reflect upon the way in which, despite everything, it is possible for human beings to give significance to their lives in the face of the chance necessity of death. Such a philosophy is necessary because it is the only form of revolution left open to us.

Communication is an artificial, intentional, dialogic, collective act of freedom, aiming at creating codes that help us forget our inevitable death and the fundamental senselessness of our absorb existence.

Human engagement for the storage of information in opposition to death cannot be measured with the same scales used by the natural scientist. Carbon-dating tests measure the natural time according to the information loss of specific radioactive atoms. However, the artificial time of human freedom ("historical time") cannot be measured by simply turning carbon-dating formulas around, so that they now measure the accumulation of information.

Murderers were not writing literature, after all; they were murdering.

It is easy to go down into Hell; night and day, the gates of dark Death stand wide; but to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air - there's the rub, the task.

Then, like ravening wolves in a black mist, when the belly's lawless rage has driven them blindly forth, and their whelps at home await them with thirsty jaws, through swords, through foes we pass to certain death, and hold our way to the city's heart; black night hovers around with sheltering shade.

Frantic in my fury I had no time for decisions; I only remembered that death in battle is glorious.

Though far away, I will chase you with murky brands and, when chill death has severed soul and body, everywhere my shade shall haunt you.

distraught I seize mine arms…And with my comrades hasten to the hold: frenzy and anger urge my headlong will, and death methinks how comely, sword in hand!

I have no horror of death, and place no value on any god. Cease therefore. For I come ready to die; and first I bring you these gifts. (Mezentius)

If there is any power of righteousness in Heaven, you will drink to the dregs the cup of punishment amid sea rocks and as you suffer cry Dido againa and again. Though far, yet I shall be near, haunting you with flames of blackest pitch. And when death's chill has parted my body from its breath, wherever you go my spectre will be there,. You will have your punishment, you villain. And I shall hear, the news will reach me deep in the world of death.

The seeds of life—fiery is their force, divine their birth, but they are weighed down by the bodies' ills or dulled by earthly limbs and flesh that's born for death.

Cui Pyrrhus:  'Referes ergo haec et nuntius ibis Pelidae genitori; illi mea tristia facta degeneremque Neoptolemum narrare memento. Nunc morere.

Illa dolos dirumque nefas in pectore versat, certa mori, varioque irarum fluctuat aestu.

But of course—so Turnus can fetch his royal bride— our lives are cheap, scattered in piles across the field, unburied and unwept.

How fortunate were you, thrice fortunate and more, whose luck it was to die under the high walls of Troy before your parents' eyes!

Death twitches my ear. Live, he says. I am coming.

He vivido mi vida, el noble curso / que me abrió la Fortuna he recorrido, / y ahora mi jornada bajo tierra emprendo, magna sombra. 950-955

Do you believe this is what the dead care about when they are buried in the grave?

See who I am, whose great age, exhausted and decayed and past the fertile time for truth, deludes me with imaginary dread when I prophesy of warring kings! Look now at this. I come from the Dread Sisters' station; and in my hand I bear war and death.

And war in my hand I carry, and death I bear.

Is death so dreadful a thing?

With horror he saw that her hair was already afire as the tarred stake burned about her head. He held her agonized gaze with his fierce black eyes. I'll love you forever, and beyond, he vowed as he raised both arms and plunged his sword into her heart. ~Marcus Magnus