Quotes About Death

You went to all the trouble of conceiving me, and giving birth to me, and raising me, and feeding and clothing me and all... -- and you make me cry and things hurt so much and disappointments crush my heart every day and I can't do half the things I want to do and sometimes I just want to scream -- and what I've got to look forward to is my body breaking breaking and something flipping off the switch in my head -- I go through all this -- and then there's death ??

I know what moves you're preparing to make. I've fought our fight already, in my head, in a million different ways. I can hit you without you even seeing me.... I'm what soldiers dream of growing into. I'm what children see when they first imagine what death is like. I'm The Midnighter.

There are many good reasons for drinking, and one's just entered my head: If you don't drink when you're living, how the fuck can you drink when you're dead?

Murder increases happiness.

Carnstein, with a soft smile and a grace and attention that bordered on the tender, very precisely beat Isaac Goldmark to death.

The absolute best thing anyone can do is grab desperately at the throttle. But they don't. Because it's a speeding death kaleidoscope made out of tits.

If you have not experienced the death of self, your spiritual life will have little real progress.

Nothing so reminds you like the sea that the enemy of life is not death but loneliness.

The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.

Guess now who holds thee?" — "Death," I said. But, there, The silver answer rang, — "Not Death, but Love." — ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

It seems as if people begin preparing themselves for death from the time they learn there is such a thing.

As much as some people try to deny it, no one gets off this planet alive. Life, in fact, is a terminal disease.

She was married to my dad, and everything was fine until he got killed in some freak tractor accident. Yeah, that's what I said, a freak tractor accident.

The mercy of the world is time. Time does not stop for love, but it does not stop for death and grief, either.

I finally knew... why Christ's prayer in the garden could not be granted. He had been seeded and birthed into human flesh. He was one of us. Once He had become mortal, He could not become immortal except by dying. That He prayed the prayer at all showed how human He was. That He knew it could not be granted showed his divinity; that He prayed it anyhow showed His mortality, His mortal love of life that His death made immortal.

I had changed, and the sign of it was only that my own death seemed to me by far the least important thing in my life.

The mercy of the world is time. Time does not stop for love, but it does not stop for death and grief, either. After death and grief that (it seems) ought to have stopped the world, the world goes on. More things happen. And some of the things that happen are good.

Back there in the beginning, as I see now, my life was all time and almost no memory. Though I knew early of death, it still seemed to be something that happened only to other people, and I stood in an unending river of time that would go on making the same changes and the same returns forever. And now, nearing the end, I see that my life is almost entirely memory and very little time.

The mind that comes to rest is tended In ways that it cannot intend: Is borne, preserved, and comprehended By what it cannot comprehend. Your Sabbath, Lord, thus keeps us by Your will, not ours. And it is fit Our only choice should be to die Into that rest, or out of it.

I finally knew, I told him, why Christ's prayer in the garden could not be granted. He had been seeded and birthed into human flesh. He was one of us. Once He had become mortal, He could not become immortal except by dying. That He prayed that prayer at all showed how human He was. That He knew it could not be granted showed His divinity; that He prayed it anyhow showed His mortality, His mortal love of life that His death made immortal.

And so we come to the last crisis, that of integrity versus disgust and despair. Throughout the life-cycle the pieces have been assembled, structure built on structure around the ego's continuity. Now with death not too far away, can it all hold up or will it crumble? Are the links of love and meaning strong enough so that we are ourselves content to fall away.

One of Christianity's key contributions to Western civilization was to give men and women a sense of freedom from the whims of fate, a hope for life after death because of the victory of Jesus Christ. And

By what logical principle should the relief of death be granted only the terminally ill? Such a restriction is itself perverse. After all, the terminally ill face only a brief period of suffering. The chronically ill, or the healthy but bereft—they face a lifetime of agony. Why deny them the relief of a humane exit?

death by banana peel or pratfall or (my favorite, I confess) onstage, like the actor Harold Norman, killed in 1947 during an especially energetic sword fight in the last scene of Macbeth. There is also the particularly unwelcome death