Quotes About Death

Of my own death, yes, I was indeed aware, for death was the future and is imaginable, and I had always had time to imagine. But the instant, the very instant - the right now - that is unimaginable, between the right now and the I there is no space: it is just now, inside me.

Preciso perguntar, embora não saiba a quem, se devo mesmo amar aquele que me trucida e perguntar quem de vós me trucida. E minha vida, mais forte do que eu, responde que quer porque quer vingança e responde que devo lutar como quem se afoga, mesmo que eu morra depois. Se assim é, que assim seja.

Deus, o que nos prometeis em troca de morrer? Pois o céu e o inferno nós já os conhecemos - cada um de nós em segredo quase de sonho já viveu um pouco o próprio apocalipse. E a própria morte.

que façam harpas de meus nervos quando eu morrer.

We've been keeping our deaths a secret so as to make our lives possible.

They were fine and slender. At any given moment they stopped every bit as much lines, every bit much in the same state as at the beginning. Interrupted, always interrupted not because they terminated, but because no one could take them to the end. Circles were more perfect, less tragic and didn't move her enough. Circles were the work of man, finished before death and not even God could finish them better. While straight, fine, freestanding lines – were like thoughts.

Nossos sentimentos e pensamentos são tão sobrenaturais como uma história passada depois da morte.

To be happy is a great responsibility. Few have the nerve. I have the nerve but with a bit of fear. A happy person is one who has accepted death. When I'm too happy, I feel a gagging anguish; I get scared.

In the chapter on the force of gravity, in elementary school, she'd invented a man with a funny disease. The force of gravity didn't work on him...So he'd fall off the earth, and keep falling evermore, because she didn't know how to give him a destiny. Where was he falling? Later she figured it out: he kept falling, falling and got used to it, eventually learning how to eat falling, sleep falling, live falling, until he died. And would he keep falling?

E a morte, que era para ser uma única boa vez, não: está sendo sem parar.

I went to a fortune-teller who told me about all kinds of good things that were about to happen to me, and on the way home in the taxi I thought it'd be really funny if a taxi hit me and ran me over and I died after hearing all those good things

What you will know of me is the shadow of the arrow that has hit its target. I shall only vainly grasp a shadow that takes up no room in space, and what barely matters is the dart. I construct something free of me and of you—this my freedom that leads to death.

I want to die with life. I swear that I shall only die profiting from the last instant. There is a profound prayer within me that will be born I don't know when. I would so like to die of health. Like someone exploding. Éclater is better: j'éclate

No huir, pero ir. Eso, tan dulce: no huir, ir... O gritar alto, alto y recto e infinito, con los ojos cerrados, tranquilos. Andar hasta encontrar las lucecitas rojas. Tan trémulas como en un comienzo o en un fin. También ella estaba muriendo, ¿o naciendo? No, no ir, quedarse rendida en el instante como la mirada absorta se prende en el vacío quiete, fija en el aire.

Dónde se guarda la música cuando no suena?, se preguntaba. Y, rendida, contestaba: que hagan un arpa de mis nervios cuando muera.

the people were steeped in the crepuscular gloom of antiquity; and were wise with all manner of accumulated lore; and were subtle in the practice of strange refinements, of erudite perversities, of all that can shroud with artful opulence and grace and variety the bare uncouth cadaver of life, or hide from mortal vision the leering skull of death.

Perhaps in arriving at the foundation of his grief and loneliness, immediate death or immediate life were the only choices within reach. He chose to live. From his rock bottom loneliness emerged a new life and a real self was restored.

We all carry the question in the deepest part of our being. We turn on the lights, power up our brains, and fill every crack and crevice with illumination and distraction. But in what shadows remain, there is still that question, waiting for us. Death is waiting for us. Paradoxically, the less space we allot to it, the larger it grows. Perhaps that is why so many of us fear the dark.

Death is only beginning to frighten me again. I had stopped being afraid of it after the revelation of that pale, pure morning when I understood that I was no different from other men. Scarcely more intelligent than the most stupid.

La muerte pide resignación, la ausencia no.

Forgiveness, I finally decide, is not the death of amnesia, nor is it a form of madness, as Derrida claims. For the one who forgives, it is simply a death, a dying down in the heart, the position of the already dead. It is in the end the living through, the understanding that this has happened, is happening, happens. Period. It is a feeling of nothingness that cannot be communicated to another, an absence, a bottomless vacancy held by the living, beyond all that is hatred or love.

Hegel argued that death is used as a threat to keep citizens in line. The minute you stop feating death you are no longer controlled by governments and councils. In a sense you are no longer accountable to life.

Peckinpah gives the final shoot-out in which they all die a kind of orgasmic rush that releases all of us from the cinematic or, more accurately, the American fantasy that we will survive no matter what.

If a man without a woman, as it says in a passage in the Talmud dear to the heart of Kafka, is not a man, then it is Amshel who became a man, even though on the point of death, but it is Franz who narrates this odyssey and teaches us how to become Amshel, how to become a man.