Quotes About Death

He found the building in front of which he had stood in the sun all day waiting to be discharged, in which the crazy doctor had suggested that he stay over another day to let him check that heart again and it had taken precious time to persuade the man that joy alone made it beat so wild. Perhaps someday he would die of that.

La vida no puede ser una preparación para la muerte porque entonces todo sería preparación para una vida que nunca aparece.

gentlemen, you are, as i am, in search of a woman who, must have passed this way, for i see a corpse.

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

O gouvernment francais, I think it was not very clever of You to put this terrible doll in La Ferte; for when Governments are found dead there is always a little doll on top of them, pulling and tweaking with his little hands to get back at the microscopic knife which sticks firmly in the quiet meat of their hearts.

And death i think is no parenthesis.

for life's not a paragraph/ and death, i think, is no parenthesis.

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands -excerpt of #35 from 100 Selected Poems

Humanity i love you because you are perpetually putting the secret of life in your pants and forgetting it's there and sitting down on it and because you are forever making poems in the lap of death Humanity i hate you

dive for dreams or a slogan may topple you (trees are their roots and wind is wind) trust your heart if the seas catch fire (and live by love though the stars walk backward) honour the past but welcome the future (and dance your death away at this wedding) never mind a world with its villains or heroes (for god likes girls and tomorrow and the earth)

That which we die for lives as wholly as that which we live for dies.

If 180 million people want to be undead, that's their funeral, but I happen to like being alive.

Buffalo Bill's defunct who used to ride a watersmooth-silver stallion and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat Jesus he was a handsome man and what i want to know is how do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death

O sweet spontaneous earth how often have the doting fingers of prurient philosophers pinched and poked thee , has the naughty thumb of science prodded thy beauty . how often have religions taken thee upon their scraggy knees squeezing and buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive gods (but true to the incomparable couch of death thy rhythmic lover thou answerest them only with spring)

i remember we all cried like the Missouri when my Uncle Sol's coffin lurched because somebody pressed a button (and down went my uncle Sol and started a worm farm)

sunlight is (life and day are)only loaned:whereas night is given(night and death and the rain are given;and given is how beautifully snow)

life's not a paragraph And death i think is no parenthesis..

annie died the other day never was there such a lay-- whom,among her dollies,dad first(don't tell your mother)had

E.E. Cummings

Querying greys between mouthed houses curl thirstily. Dead stars stink. dawn. Inane, the poetic carcass of a girl

Buffalo Bills defunct who used to ride a watersmooth-silver stallion and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat Jesus he was a handsome man and what I want to know is how do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death

haste ere some thrush with silver several tears complete the perfumed paraphrase of death)

death,as men call him,ends what they call men —but beauty is more now than dying's when

And what if neutrinos in their uncountable multitudinous dark-matteredness gravitationally directing the universe . . . are the souls of the dead?