Quotes About Death

Sunt aproape mort acum. Miros t?mâie ?i mult fum . Totu?i mai aud ceva... Ani lumina, vocea ta...

Here lies one from a distant star, but the soil is not alien to him, for in death he belongs to the universe.

Race preservation is a myth … a myth that you all have lived by—a sordid thing that has arisen out of your social structure. The race ends every day. When a man dies the race ends for him—so far as he's concerned there is no longer any race.

You got the firing squad?" "No, that's inhuman—those guys can miss and they gutshoot you. You hang a man, that knot can slip and he can strangle. Electric chair, he sizzles, been known to catch fire. Gas chamber, he pukes and yells. Texas is more modern. Here we drug a man, then inject cyanide into a vein. They say it doesn't hurt. No one's ever come back to say yea or nay." Pedro

This is your life and mine! It's skull and bones every incha the road! Christ, we're dyin' by inches!

If they tell you that she died of sleeping pills you must know that she died of a wasting grief, of a slow bleeding at the soul.

There is no such thing as fate. We are born, we live, we die. We invent meaning to make life tolerable.

Killing another human being is not something you get used to. It takes away their life and subtracts something from your own, a fine layer of your humanity.

It is not surprising that Spain found a need for the word duende. It is the only country where death in the bullring is a national spectacle, the only nation where death is announced by the explosion of trumpets and drums. The bullring, divided in sol y sombre – the light and shade, is the perfect metaphor for life and death, a passing from the light into darkness. Every matador who ever lived had duende and no death is more profound than death in the bullring.

Whether you like it or not, you're forced to come to the realisation that death is out there. But I don't fear death, I'm a fatalist. I believe when it's your time, that's it. It's the hand you're dealt.

Its a hell of a thing, killing a man. You take away everything he's got and everything he's ever gonna have.

It's a hell of a thing; killin' a man. You take away everything he ever had and ever would have.

Here is a list of terrible things, The jaws of sharks, a vultures wings The rabid bite of the dogs of war, The voice of one who went before, But most of all the mirror's gaze, Which counts us out our numbered days.

A man kills the thing he loves, and he must die a little himself.

Nothing happens carelessly. We're not brought into the world without reason, even though we may never understand the reason. An infant that lives an hour, that dies before it can lay eyes on those who made it, even that soul did not live without purpose: this is my sudden certainty.

a reader of the Daily Mail brings it down to earth: "Only the 'elite' will go. The rest of us will be left to die.

We shouldn't call a critic a murderer just because it is his duty to sign death certificates. —MARCEL REICH-RANICKI, DIE ANWALTE DER LITERATUR,

and he wrote the single most famous poem about the death camps, "Todesfuge" (Death Fugue).

Hamlet himself knew just what to expect: Steady reduction of his body mass Until the day, his very coffin wrecked, Some clown picked up his skull and said, 'Alas.

To save Germany was not granted to them; only to die for it; luck was not with them, it was with Hitler. But they did not die in vain. Just as we need air if we are to breathe, and light if we are to see, so we need noble people if we are to live. —RICARDA HUCH,

It was being published, even after his death, that brought Franz Kafka alive: otherwise he would have been just a man who got nowhere with women.

Man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave.

We have seen the death of Republicanism, of special privilege and national boodle.

A woman can never die of grief. She is such a solid creature, so hard to kill!