Quotes About Death

You think that their dying is the worst thing that could happen. Then they stay dead.

Nothing I do will make death disappear Or let your shudder or your knowledge go. See the world whole, and see it clearly then, A globe of dirt crusted with bones of men. If we walk, we walk on graves. - from Shudder

It's almost relaxing to know I'll die fairly soon, as it's a comfort not to obsess about my next orgasm.

Life is hell but death is worse. - from No Deposit

We die of habits, deplorable ones like merely living: finally fatal. - from Tubes

What good does it do to tell somebody to live morally so they can die 50 years later and apparently go to Hell?

I wanted it to be an easy story. But nobody really remembers easy stories. Characters have to face their greatest fears with courage. That's what makes a story good. If you think about the stories you like most, they probably have lots of conflict. There is probably death at stake, inner death or actual death, you know. These polar charges, these happy and sad things in life, are like colors God uses to draw the world.

When he was almost two, his father was killed in battle during the Seven Years War, the world's first global combat.

Chekisty with smoking revolvers ran back and cocked the triggers immediately. The legs of those shot jerked in convulsions. . . . Two men in grey greatcoats nimbly put nooses round the necks of the corpses, dragged them off to a dark niche in the cellar. Two others with spades dug at the earth, directing steaming rivulets of blood. Solomin, his revolver in his belt, sorted out the linen of those shot. He carefully made separate

When the anarchist Giashvili was sentenced to death for exploding a bomb that killed a senior government official, nobody in Tbilisi would act as his executioner. He was reprieved—laudable in a Christian or humanistic culture, but disastrous for a state whose weaknesses were being probed by embittered fanatics

They hadn't lived long enough to understand what grace it was to die in an instant and not to linger.

Your mother, was she clear in her mind until the end?' he asked, knowing it was invasive and cruel to do so. Because his mother had died years before her body did, Brunetti was unable to judge which sort of death was worse and for whom. In all these years, although he had asked many people who had lost a parent, he had never had an answer that would decide the case for him.

Is this what retirement would be for him? he wondered. Sticking his nose into other people's business whenever he had the feeling that something wasn't consistent in a story? Must every death come in a tidy package before ex-Commissario Brunetti would leave it alone and let people get on with their lives?

Brunetti's best friend had often said that he wanted death to take him just at the moment he laid his last lira down on a bar and said, 'Prosecco for everyone.

Death made real time meaningless

Why was it that the words with which we confronted death always sounded so inadequate, so blatantly false?

The old die softly or the old die hard

about the insurance and he felt his face grow red again. He'd reacted like a child with a new toy, running off at the first impulse, not pausing long enough to reflect or to check the information they did have available to them. He knew it was by now standard policy to suspect the spouse in any case of suspicious death, but he should have trusted his instinct about

as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn't touch.

it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn't touch.

A goodbye at the gate, said Hobie. He seemed to be talking partly to himself. That's what he would have wanted. The parting glimpse, the death haiku - he wouldn't have liked to leave without stopping to speak to someone along the way. 'A teahouse amid the cherry blossoms on the way to death.

With the news about Andy, it was like someone had thrown an x-ray switch and reversed everything into photographic negative, so that even with the daffodils and the dogwalkers and the traffic cops whistling on the corners, death was all I saw: sidewalks teeming with dead, cadavers pouring off the buses and hurrying home from work, nothing left of any of them in a hundred years except tooth fillings and pacemakers and maybe a few scraps of cloth and bone.

Twelve years after Robin's death, no one knew any more about how he had ended up hanged from a tree in his own yard than they had on the day it happened.

Death is the mother of beauty," said Henry. "And what is beauty?" "Terror." "Well said," said Julian. "Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.