Quotes About Death

My mother was a dramatic and egocentric person, and she died before my father, who died of Alzheimer's disease. But I'd often thought, God, we were so lucky that was the order in which they died because she would have felt put upon.

New Orleans, more than many places I know, actually tangibly lives its culture. It's not just a residual of life; it's a part of life. Music is at every major milestone of our life: birth, marriage, death. It's our culture.

When I got out of the hospital, it was one of those classic things - you're looking death in the eye, and it changes you. I thought, I ought to go back on the road.

The fact that we die is one of the more interesting things that happen to us. Fiction ought to be about bottom lines, and that's as bottom-line as you can get.

If we are marked to die, we are enough to do our country loss; and if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honor.

We shall all die, and our lives will be irrelevant then.

The disquieting news of Danny Villanueva's death brought back memories of our time together at KNBC in the early 1970s.

In our world of sleek flesh and collagen, Botox and liposuction, what we most fear is the dissolution of the body-mind, the death of the brain.

I have an obsession with mortality. I saw a friend die when I was 18, and I can't get over it.

Well Socrates is 70 when he dies. He's been allowed to philosophise freely in the city for almost 50 years. He clearly was - genius is an overused word - but he clearly did have something of the genius about him.

I have turned into a pumpkin I am poor The ball is over and I did not dance My heart stops beating I am sad Nothing can ever be so beautiful again Nothing can This is my usual corner I'm at home Here are the pots and spoons and darkness I did not dance and now I am alone My death drops down the chimney My heart stops

the south where these stories take place—is lower Alabama, lush and green and full of death, the wooded counties between the Alabama and Tombigbee Rivers.

coming back like this to hunt for details for my stories feels a bit like poaching on land that used to be mine. But I've never lost the need to tell of my Alabama, to reveal it, lush and green and full of death. So I return, knowing what I've learned.

That's what Jesse had never understood: she didn't even want to. She'd known, too, for the first time, that her mother had been lucky to die in childbirth, still one with the baby dying within her.

The prejudice surrounding AIDS exacts a social death which precedes the actual physical one.

When you're about to die, your whole life's supposed to flash before your eyes. When you fall in true love, on the other hand, what you see in the twinkling of an eye is your entire future.

There is a curious paradox that no one can explain. Who understands the secret of the reaping of the grain? Who understands why Spring is born out of Winter's laboring pain, or why we must all die a bit before we grow again? I do not know the answer; I merely know it's true. I hurt them for that reason, and myself a little bit too.

I guess the decay of a corpse is progress, too . . . from the point of view of the bacteria.

It is a sobering thought that when Mozart was my age, he had been dead for two years.

All the doors were open, all the faces were frightened; one felt that Death was there.

I close my eyes, and this image floats beside me. A sweaty toothed mad man with a stare that pounds my brain. His hands reach out and choke me, and all the time he's mumbling. "Truth, truth." Like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold. You push it, stretch it, but it'll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying, to the moment we leave dying, it'll just cover your face, as you wail and cry and scream.

Believe it or not each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die

When you're young, you have way fewer taboo topics, and then as you go through life and you have experiences with people getting cancer and dying and all the things you would have made fun of, then you don't make fun of them anymore. So rebelliousness really is the province of young people—that kind of iconoclasm.

You're familiar with the tragedies of antiquity, are you? The great homicidal classics?