Quotes About Death

He asked that God remember those who had died and he asked that the living gathered together here remember that the corn grows by the will of God and beyond that will there is neither corn nor growing nor light nor air nor rain nor anything at all save only darkness. Then they ate.

Dont be afraid for me, she had written. When has death ever harmed anyone?

He said the right dreams for a man in peril were dreams of peril and all else was the call of languor and of death.

Chigurh shot him in the face. Everything that Wells had ever known or thought or loved drained slowly down the wall behind him. His mother's face, his First Communion, women he had known. The faces of men as they died on their knees before him. The body of a child dead in a roadside ravine in another country.

And the dreams so rich in color. How else would death call you?

Can I ask you something? Yes. Of course you can. What would you do if I died? If you died I would want to die too. So you could be with me? Yes. So I could be with you. Okay.

He thought perhaps if he dreamt of him enough he'd go away forever and be dead among his kind

Those whom life does not cure death will.

Contemplating death is supposed to have a certain philosophical value. Palliative even. Trivial to say, but the best way to die well is to live well. To die for another would give your death meaning. Ignoring for the time being the fact that the other is going to die anyway.

the right dreams for a man in peril were dreams of peril and all else was the call of languor and of death.

Has pensado alguna vez en la muerte? Sí. A veces. ¿Y tú? Sí. A veces. ¿Crees que existe un cielo? Sí. ¿Tú no? No lo sé. Quizá sí. ¿Crees que puedes creer en el cielo si no crees en el infierno? Creo que puedes creer lo que quieras.

Glanton was first to reach the dying man and he knelt with that alien and barbarous head cradled between his thighs like some reeking outland nurse and dared off the savages with his revolver. They circled on the plain and shook their bows and lofted a few arrows at him and then turned and rode on. Blood bubbled from the man's chest and he turned his lost eyes upward, already glazed, the capillaries breaking up. In those dark pools there sat each a small and perfect sun.

It's just that the passing of time is irrevocably the passing of you. And then nothing. I suppose it should be a comfort to understand that one cannot be dead forever where there's no forever to be dead in. Well. I see your look. I know that you see me enfettered in some cognitive morass and I'm sure that you would contend it to be the ultimate solipsism to believe that the world ceases when you do. But I've no other way to look

Listen Sut. We're painted into a corner anyways. I mean what if we was to just call up and say he died? I mean hell fire, you caint fool them guys. Them guys is doctors. They take one look at him and know for a fact he's been dead six months. How does it smell in there? It smells fuckin awful.

This is my child, he said. I wash a dead man's brains out of his hair.

keeping to the firmer sand below the tidewrack. They stood, their clothes flapping softly. Glass floats covered with a gray crust. The bones of seabirds. At the tide line a woven mat of weeds and the ribs of fishes in their millions stretching along the shore as far as eye could see like an isocline of death. One vast salt sepulchre. Senseless. Senseless.

He said that what men do not understand is that what the dead have quit is itself no world but is also only the picture of the world in men's hearts. He said that the world cannot be quit for it is eternal in whatever form as are all things within it.

Torbert nodded. You and the sheriff goin to come down and get me off of death row? If we cant get you out we'll get in there with you. You all dont be makin light of the dead thataway, Bell said. Wendell nodded. Yessir, he said. You're right. I might be one myself some day.

Most people'll run from their own mother to get to hug death by the neck. They cant wait to see him.

This is a dog. He is dead too. This

If I dont come back tell Mother I love her. Your mother's dead Llewelyn. Well I'll tell her myself then.

He mistrusted all of that. He said the right dreams for a man in peril were dreams of peril and all else was the call of languor and of death.

The mountain road brick-red of dust laced with lizard tracks, coming up through the peach orchard, hot, windless, cloistral in a silence of no birds save one vulture hung in the smokeblue void of the sunless mountainside, rocking on the high updrafts, and the road turning and gated with bullbriers waxed and green, and the green cadaver grin sealed in the murky waters of the peach pit, slimegreen skull with newts coiled in the eyesockets and a wig of moss.

For the most part they were dead by rumor. A yellowed scrap of newsprint. A letter. A telegram.