Quotes About Death

I think closeness to death would be pretty exhilarating in a way, and friendship, yeh, and selflessness, a kind of selflessness, a sense of your own worthlessness, I think, is pretty exhilarating.

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry.

What is thy sentence then but speechless death.

And death? I don't fear death. I dread the absence of it.

Death when unmasked shows us a friendly face and is a terror only at a distance.

Look out, Death: I am coming.-Art thou not glad? what talks we'll have.-What memories of old battles.-Come, bring the bowl, Death; I am thirsty.

A Covenant not to defend myself from force, by force, is always void. For... no man can transfer or lay down his Right to save himself from Death.

The Koran was assembled from a variety of prior Hagarene texts (hence the contradictions re Jesus' death) in order to provide the Moses-like Muhammad with a Torah of his own.

Meditation is a refocusing on symbols. It's not emptiness. We are using symbols, doorways to step from one world to another, from darkness into light, from death to immortality.

Either a peaceful old age awaits me, or death flies round me with black wings. [Lat., Seu me tranquilla senectus Exspectat, seu mors atris circumvolat alis.]

Death, thou shalt die.

"Death's a capricious thing, innit?" "Yes. Yes, she is."

Death and loss, they plague you. So do memories. Like the Mississippi's incessant slap against the levees, they creep up with deceptive sweetness before grabbing your heart and pulling it under.

Speak me fair in death.

Using death to defeat death... wow. No way the devil saw that one coming.

Obviously death is a theme I'm fascinated by.

Not death itself, but only the moral preparation for it, holds terrors.

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain

Death's long anabasis.

Our loss put six feet under ground Is measured by the magnolia's root; Our gain's the intellectual sound Of death's feet round a weedy tomb.

Part of elegy is confrontation - not just with the idea of death, but with the person who has died.

the heart, this child of myself that resides in the flesh, this ultimate signature of the me, the start of my blindness and sleep, builds a death crèche.

Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard.

What, then, remains but that we still should cry, For being born, and, being born, to die?