Quotes About Death

I remember an hypothesis argued upon by the young students, when I was at St. Omer's, and maintained with much learning and pleasantry on both sides, 'Whether supposing that the flavour of a big who obtained his death by whipping (per flagellationem extremem) superadded a pleasure upon the palate of a man more intense than any possible suffering we can conceive in the animal, is man justified in using that method of putting an animal to death?' I forget the decision.

Some day, we will all die, Snoopy. True, but on all the other days, we will not.

Three causes especially have excited the discontent of mankind; and, by impelling us to seek remedies for the irremediable, have bewildered us in a maze of madness and error. These are death, toil, and the ignorance of the future..

Death is the greatest form of love.

Death is peace from this world's madness and paradise in my own self. Death as I lay in my grave of constant vibration, endless now

The only thing that makes reality is death; then they hang it on a cross, kneel down and pray to it.

You can't tell a dead man you're sorry.

Sin requires blood. I can't explain why. It just is. Somewhere in here, I came to grips with the beautiful, tender, magnificent, barbaric, soul-shattering, eternal, unequivocal reality that the birth, life, and death of this innocent boy and magnificent Man are simply my King's first step from throne to trough to cross to tomb to hell to God's right hand. As a result, I am blood bought. Blood washed. And blood redeemed.

People would much rather die holding someone's hand than live alone.

You were right about writers." Her voice was a whisper. "How's that?" "They die. Their words don't.

To die is nothing; but it is terrible not to live. —Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

Partly because sprawl has forced Americans to drive farther and farther in the course of every day, per capita road death rates in the United States hover around forty thousand per year. That's a third more people than are killed by guns. It's more than ten times the number of people killed in the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001.

What followed was "a new kind of mass death," says urban historian Peter Norton, who charted the transformation in America's road culture during the 1920s. More than two hundred thousand people were killed in motor accidents in the United States that decade. Most were killed in cities. Most of the dead were pedestrians. Half were children and youths.

As the dead prey upon us,they are the dead in ourselves,awake, my sleeping ones, I cry out to you,disentangle the nets of being!

I am ready. I have repented my sins and soon I will be in heaven with Christ my savior. Now I must die like a man.

In a very few minutes this torture was mercifully ended. Blackie fell to the ground and died, his brave heart burst and mine broken. There never lived a nobler pony.

On his deathbed he asked for a priest and became a Catholic. That was his wife's religion. It was his own business and none of mine. If you had sentenced one hundred and sixty men to death and seen around eighty of them swing, then maybe at the last minute you would feel the need for some stronger medicine than the Methodists could make.

If you did that I wouldn't even be mad. I'd be dead.

How shall we mourn you who are killed and wasted,sure that you would not die with your work unended,as if the iron scythe in the grass stops for a flower?

If man were immortal he could be perfectly sure of seeing the day when everything in which he had trusted should betray his trust, and, in short, of coming eventually to hopeless misery. He would break down, at last, as every good fortune, as every dynasty, as every civilization does. In place of this we have death.

All human affairs rest upon probabilities, and the same thing is true everywhere. If man were immortal he could be perfectly sure of seeing the day when everything in which he had trusted would betray his trust, and, in short, of coming eventually to hopeless misery. He would break down, at last, as every great fortune, as every dynasty, as every civilization does. In place of this we have death.

Sometimes I think about dying. And then I wonder about going to hell. And then I think that if and when I go there, the place will be completely organized and run by lost souls, with a council and a works committee and an ethics panel, and I'll feel right at home.

I could never free myself from the thought that Nature is that which is slowly killing me.

They wheeled out the ash blonde who believes herself already dead into the spike-fenced garden of the hospital for the insane. Her name was Amy or Ann, but she didn't answer to either one. She kept her eyes tightly shut. [...] Some of it was told to me by a shivering young man who insisted that it's been raining for years, even indoors. "Coming down real hard," he said.