Quotes About Death

He that hath a will to die by himself fears it not from another.

Or if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentany as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And, ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!' The jaws of darkness do devour it up. So quick bright things come to confusion

There's nothing serious in mortality. All is but toys. Renown and grace is dead. The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.

Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.

Thou, my slave, As thou report'st thyself, was then her servant, And for thou wast a spirit too delicate To act her earthy and abhorred commands, Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, By help of her more potent ministers And in her most unmitigable rage, Into a cloven pine, within which rift Imprisoned thou didst painfully remain A dozen years; within which space she died And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans As fast as mill wheels strike.

What is honour? A word. What is that word 'honour'? Air. A trim135 reckoning! Who hath it? He that died o'Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible137, then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction138 will not suffer it. Therefore I'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon139: and so ends my catechism.140

From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death: That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood, That foul defacer of God's handiwork, That excellent grand tyrant of the earth That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.

CAPULET: Ready to go, but never to return. O son! the night before thy wedding-day Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies, Flower as she was, deflowered by him. Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir; My daughter he hath wedded: I will die, And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's.

Bear hence this body and attend our will. Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion; For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced: And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? O, in this love, you love your child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well: She's not well married that lives married long; But she's best married that dies married young.

Lay her i' the earth; And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring!

Sirrah, your Father's dead: And what will you do now? How will you live? Son: As birds do, mother. L. Macd: What with worms and flies? Son: With what I get, I mean; and so do they.

And graves have yawned and yielded up their dead. Fierce

One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.

And every day past is just another step for fools on the way to their deaths.

La mort, ce sombre fantôme, est assise sur son bras vigoureux : ce bras se lève, retombe, et alors les hommes meurent.

Merely, thou art death's fool, For him thou labor'st by thy flight to shun, And yet run'st toward him still.

What's yet in this That bears the name of life? Yet in this life Lie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even.

Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope

For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honor more than I fear death.

Lady Macduff: Now God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? Son: If he were dead, you'd weep for him. If you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father.

I know not love' quoth he, 'nor will not know it, Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it. 'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it. My love to love is love but to disgrace it; For I have heard it is a life in death, That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.

21 Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.

And so you see, dear reader, the death of my friend Sophie forced me to realize that the whole universe is one big concentration camp run by God -- the biggest Nazi of them all! So slavery in Virginia wasn't all that bad. And it was really God's fault anyway. Pretty good tragic insight there. Think I'll crank some Bellamy Brothers and get loaded!