Quotes About Death

Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.

Good Madonna, why mournest thou? Good Fool, for my brother's death. I think his soul is in hell, Madonna. I know his soul is in heaven, Fool. The more fool, Madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven.

Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him.

Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

death, The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns

By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death: I'll ne'er bear a base mind: an 't be my destiny, so; an't be not, so: no man's too good to serve's prince; and let it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the next.

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead . . . . . . . . . . . . And breathed such life with kisses in my lips That I revived and was an emperor.

O my love, my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.

He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.

What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no.

whats here a cup closed in my true loves hand poisin i see hath been his timeless end. oh churl drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. i will kiss thy lips some poisin doth hang on them, to help me die with a restorative. thy lips are warm. yea noise then ill be brief oh happy dagger this is thy sheath. there rust and let me die.

When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes; As one incapable of her own distress, Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element: but long it could not be Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay To muddy death. (Ophelia)

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die

Despair and die. The ghosts

For death remembered should be like a mirror, Who tells us life's but breath, to trust it error.

The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch Which hurts and is desired.

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come?

And will 'a not come again? And will 'a not come again? No, no, he is dead, Go to thy death bed: He will never come again.

Wear me as a seal over your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, passion cruel as the grave.

for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.

Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.

Every subject's duty is the King's; but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore, should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his conscience; and dying so, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost wherein such preparation was gained; and in him that escapes, it were no sin to think that, making God so free an offer, He let him outlive the day to see His greatness and to teach others how they should prepare.

Mañana, y mañana, y mañana se arrastra con paso mezquino día tras día hasta la sílaba final del tiempo escrito, y la luz de todo nuestro ayer guió a los bobos hacia el polvo de la muerte. ¡Apágate, apágate breve llama! La vida es una sombra que camina, un pobre actor que en escena se arrebata y contonea y nunca más se le oye. Es un cuento que cuenta un idiota, lleno de ruido y de furia, que no significa nada.

He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.