Quotes About Death

Él mismo se encarga de recoger mis cenizas, incluso aunque eso sea tarea de mujeres. Las guarda en una urna dorada, la mejor de todo el campamento, y se vuelve a los griegos que le observan. —Os encomiendo una misión para después de mi muerte: mezclar nuestras cenizas y enterrarnos juntos.

He is half of my soul, as the poets say. He will be dead soon, and his honor is all that will remain.

But how is there glory in taking a life? We die so easily.

Incinera mi cuerpo y dame sepultura. Te estaré esperando entre las sombras.

The death I had put into his hand.

shine with pride. I knew how painful the death of that hope could be.

No soul wished to be sent early to the endless gloom of our underworld. Exile might satisfy the living, but it does not appease the dead.

No passado, já pensei que os deuses eram o contrário da morte, mas agora vejo que estão mais mortos que tudo, pois são imutáveis e não conseguem segurar nada nas mãos.

I like a man who's good, but not too good - for the good die young, and I hate a dead one.

A terminal illness doesn't belong only to the one who is sick—it affects family members, friends, neighbors, coworkers. Not unlike a still pond disturbed by a falling stone, an impending death sends ripples through all the relationships in the life of the dying. Each person involved has his or her own set of issues, fears, and questions.

Life is eternal; and love is immortal; and death is only a horizon; and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight. ROSSITER WORTHINGTON RAYMOND

A]fter all, what does it mean for pain to be 'memorable'? You're either in pain or you're not. And it isn't the pain that one forgets. It's the touching death part. As the baby might say to its mother, we might say to death: I forget you, but you remember me.

On April 20, 1970, the poet Paul Celan left his home in Paris, walked to a bridge over the River Seine, and jumped to his death. He left a biography of Hölderlin open on his desk, with the following words underlined: "Sometimes this genius goes dark and sinks down into the bitter well of his heart." The sentence does not end there. Celan chose not to underline the rest: "but mostly his apocalyptic star glitters wondrously.

He can feel Death in the room, hovering in the shadows, over there beside the door, head averted, but watching all the same, always watching. It is waiting, biding its time. It will slide forward on skinless feet, with breath of damp ashes, to take her, to clasp her in its cold embrace, and he, Hamnet, will not be able to wrest her free.

Morirse será así, notar que algo se acerca y que no se puede evitar?

When you engender a life, you open yourself to risk, to fear. Holding my child, I realised my vulnerability to death: I was frightened of it, for the first time. I knew all too well how fine a membrane separates us from that place, and how easily it can be perforated.

Anyone, Eliza is thinking, who describes dying as "slipping away" or "peaceful" has never witnessed it happen. Death is violent, death is a struggle.

Love is not changed by death and nothing is lost, and all in the end is harvest.

Death is violent, death is a struggle. The body clings to life, as ivy to a wall, and will not easily let go, will not surrender its grip without a fight.

He can feel Death in the room, hovering in the shadows, over there beside the door, head averted, but watching all the same, always watching. It is waiting, biding its time. It will slide forward on skinless feet, with breath of damp ashes, to take her, to clasp her in its cold embrace, and he, Hamnet, will not be able to wrest her free. Should he insist it takes him too? Should they go together, just as they always have?

t. Anyone, Eliza is thinking, who describes dying as 'slipping away' or 'peaceful' has never witnessed it happen. Death is violent, death is a struggle. The body clings to life, as ivy to a wall, and will not easily let go, will not surrender its grip without a fight.

It was not so much that I didn't value my existence but more that I had an insatiable desire to push myself to embrace all that it could offer. Nearly losing my life at the age of eight made me sanguine - perhaps to a fault - about death. I knew it would happen, at some point, and the idea didn't scare me; its proximity felt instead almost familiar. The knowledge that I was lucky to be alive, that it so easily could have been otherwise, skewed my thinking.

That it is possible to comfort your daughters with assurances about places in Heaven and eternal joy and how they may all be reunited after death and how he will be waiting for them, while not believing any of it.

Esme straightens up, weighing the pebble in her palm. 'No,' she says. 'Were they burnt or strangled? Witches were strangled to death in parts of Scotland, weren't they? Or buried alive.