Quotes About Death

The true terror Jonah thought the true mystery of life was not that we are all going to die but that we were all born that we were all once little babies like this unknowing and slowly reeling in the world gathering it loop by loop like a ball of string. The true terror was that we once didn't exist and then through no fault of our own we had to.

Nothing but sunrise and sunsetting Men fighting the things that are- Birthgiving and bloodletting And a drunk god snoring afar.

The birth of the mind is the death of the senses

Death is not sad; the sad thing is that most people don't really live at all.

Death is not sad. The sad thing is most people don't live at all.

The world was peopled with minds, whirling faster than any wind, in search of distraction and escape from the predicament of change, the dilemma of life and death — seeking purpose, security, enjoyment, trying to make sense of the mystery. Everyone everywhere lived a confused, bitter search. Reality never matched their dreams; happiness was just around the corner — a corner they never turned. And the source of it all was the human mind.

The world was peopled with minds, whirling faster than any wind, in search of distraction and escape from the predicament of change, the dilemma of life and death — seeking purpose, security, enjoyment, trying to make sense of the mystery. Everyone everywhere lived a confused, bitter search. Reality never matched their dreams; happiness was just around the corner — a corner they never turned.

Ki ruházta rád a felelÅ'sséget? Ki adott bölcsességet, hogy tudd, kinek kell élnie, és kinek kell meghalnia, és milyen úton-módon? Ki vagy te, hogy tudd, mi jár Isten fejében?

Per avere una morte benedetta, bisogna imparare a vivere. Per avere una vita benedetta, bisogna imparare a morire.

Death is not sad; the sad thing is that most people don't ever really live at all.

The birth of the mind is the death of the senses — it's not that we eat an apple and get a little sexy!

you don't get what you want, you suffer; if you get what you don't want, you suffer; even when you get exactly what you want, you still suffer because you can't hold on to it forever. Your mind is your predicament. It wants to be free of change, free of pain, free of the obligations of life and death. But change is a law, and no amount of pretending will alter that reality.

The world was people with minds, whirling faster than any wind, in search of distraction and escape from the predicament of change, the dilemma of life and death--seeking purpose, security, enjoyment; trying to make sense of the mystery. Everyone everywhere lived a confused, bitter search. Reality never matched their dreams; happiness was just around the comer--a corner they never turned.

It has been my experience that immediately after certain traumatic separations—leaving one's family to go to war, for instance, or upon the death of a family member, or after parting from one's beloved with no assurances of reunion—there is a strange calmness, almost a sense of relief, as if the worst has happened and nothing else need be dreaded.

Quality wine, Scotch, and coffee had been the three irreplaceable commodities after the death of Old Earth.

She would follow him there. And she would die there -- and die soon. Of misery and of strangeness and of all the vicious, petty, alien, and unbridled thoughts that would pour into her like the poison from the Goldner tins poured into Fitzjames -- unseen, vile, deadly.

Colonel Fedmahn Kassad knew only that all the great passions of a passionate life had led him to this place and to this moment, and if death awaited him here, then so be it. And if love and glory and a victory that would make Valhalla quake awaited, then so be it.

In the beginning was the Word. Then came the fucking word processor. Then came the thought processor. Then came the death of literature. And so it goes. Francis

But this is human life: the war, the deeds, The disappointment, the anxiety, Imagination's struggles, far and nigh, All human; bearing in themselves this good, That they are still the air, the subtle food, To make us feel existence, and to show How quiet death is. Where soil is men grow, Whether to weeds or flowers; but for me, There is no depth to strike in

Look," said Lamia, "what good would telling each other stories do? When we meet the Shrike, we tell it what we want, one of us is granted the wish, and the others die. Correct?

Well, nothing helps an artist's career more than a little death and obscurity, I always say.

Trust me. I've seen it in London and I've seen it with shipwreck. Death by scurvy is worse. It would be better if the Thing took us all tonight. And with that we went below to the flame-flickering Darkness of the lower deck and to a cold almost the equal of the Dante-esque Ninth Circle Arctic Night without.

Le disgustaba morir, y no quería morir más de lo necesario.

It is hard to die. Harder to live.