Quotes About Death

his unending ambition to find death and conquer it or become it, which, poets said later, became the same thing in the end.

Al gigante Grof le lanzaron una piedra al ojo, ese ojo se volvió hacia el interior en su mente, y el gigante murió por lo que vio en ella

I just tried to put myself in her place and figure out what would be the scariest thing. If I thought I might be dying. And it was being alone' ... 'To me,' she said, 'the scariest thing is oblivion. Being, and then not being.

bit to find out what really happened. So do it. I'd like you to investigate Jenkins's death as my private investigator. The Sunset Cove PD is convinced they have their man—or woman, as it turns

She tried to keep her voice steady, but it was pretense, like pretending self-control when something you loved was dead in front of your eyes. They would have to separate here.

A música vivia, mas o mundo estava morto. E a canção morreria um dia, pensou, mas como voltaria o mundo à vida? Como voltaria o seu sal?

Death was only one more adventure untried.

She wished the tunnel might cave in and kill them both, that their bodies might be dragged out together.

Odd, Tom thought, that some girls meant sadness and death. Some girls looked like sunlight, creativity, joy, but they really meant death, and not even because the girls were enticing their victims, in fact one might blame the boys for being deceived by—nothing at all, simply imagination.

The music lived, but the world was dead. And the song would die one day, she thought, but how would the world come back to life? How would its salt come back?

At dawn, after my death hours before, The sunlight will spread at seven o'clock as usual On these trees which I know. Greenness will burst, dark green shadows yield To the cruel-benign, indifferent sun. Indifferent will stand the trees in my own garden, Unweeping for me on the morning of my death. Same as ever, roots athirst, The trees will rest in breezeless dawn, Blind and uncaring, The trees that I knew, That I tended.

If he could fully believe in the pearly gates of the priests or the spirits of his father, he might welcome death, but all Cade could think of was Lily. It was odd that he had spent twenty years of his life simply surviving, only to spend his dying minutes dreaming of a woman who hated him. Closing his eyes, Cade felt the warmth of her body close to his. She didn't hate him completely. Her body was too warm and alive to his touch to hate him entirely. Had there been time... Damn

If you and I want to stir up a resentment tomorrow that may rankle across the decades and endure until death, just let us indulge in a little stinging criticism—no matter how certain we are that it is justified.

Yacen aquí los despojos de un pobre viajero. Murió defendiendo su derecho de paso: Razón le sobraba, estaba en lo justo, lo cierto. Mas tan muerto está como si hubiera errado.

Who died maintaining his right of way— He was right, dead right, as he sped along, But he's just as dead as if he were wrong.

There is a widespread notion that just passing through death transforms human character. Discipleship is not needed. Just believe enough to "make it." But I have never been able to find any basis in scriptural tradition or psychological reality to think this might be so. What if death only forever fixes us as the kind of person we are at death? What would one do in heaven with a debauched character or a hate-filled heart?

Humility leads to perfect death. Humility means the giving up of self and the taking of the place of perfect nothingness before

the full manifestation of the power of this death in your disposition and conduct depends upon the measure in which the Holy Spirit imparts the power of the death of Christ.

only humility leads to perfect death; only death perfects humility. Humility and death are in their very nature one: humility is the bud; in death the fruit is ripened to perfection.

That is, his death was a revelation of the nature of basic reality. Without knowledge of it and its meaning, we are desperately ignorant of reality, and therefore all our thinking can only result in monstrous falsehoods.

But you think there's an order, you think your actions matter, that they'll be weighed and judged in some final reckoning. But there is no reckoning. For each of us, death is the last day.

Desire lies at the heart of who God made us to be, who we are at our core. Desire is both our greatest frailty and the mark of our highest beauty. Our desire completes us as we become One with our Lover, and it separates us from Him and brings death as it wars against His will.

Shalom is shattered by sin, by the intrusion of a lie, a distortion of the truth that mars the pleasure of being naked, transparent, trusting and true. ... shattering occurs when our dignity os assaulted and death enters to divide and destroy.

The truth can be glimpsed only through the eyes of death.