Quotes About Death

A man with nothing to die for has even less for which to live.

Soon the two men were chattering away sounding excited, they could only be discussing trivialities yet their voices, their gestures might lead the observer to suppose they were arguing about life and death. Such was the Greek manner of conversation.

The Little War? How can there be a little war? Are some deaths smaller than others, leaving mothers who weep a little less?

I can't understand why dark northern soldiers and light ones are separated into different brigades. The dead are all buried together in hasty mass graves, bones touching.

Vampires let us play with death and the issue of mortality. They let us ponder what it would mean to be truly long lived. Would the long view allow us to see the world differently, imagine social structures differently? Would it increase or decrease our reverence for the planet? Vampires allow us to ask questions we usually bury.

I was in two episodes playing Christopher Reeve's character's emissary. They wanted to have my character announce Dr Swan's death, which I thought was exploitative.

Depakote also has a really bad side effect, which is death.

She represents the un-vowed aspiration of the male human being, his potential infidelity -- and infidelity of a very special kind, which would lead him to the opposite of his wife, to the woman of wax whom he could model at will, make and unmake in any way he wished, even unto death.

I am dead. I have no desire for you. My body no longer wants the one who doesn't love.

Little soul, gentle and drifting, guest and companion of my body, now you will dwell below in pallid places, stark and bare; there you will abandon your play of yore. But one moment still, let us gaze together on these familiar shores, on these objects which doubtless we shall not see again....Let us try, if we can, to enter into death with open eyes...

Meditation upon death does not teach one how to die; it does not make the departure more easy, but ease is not what I seek. Beloved boy, so willful and brooding, your sacrifice will have enriched not my life but my death. ... Centuries as yet unborn within the dark womb of time would pass by thousands over that tomb without restoring life to him, but likewise without adding to his death, and without changing the fact that he had been.

When I die I'm sure I will have a Big Funeral. Curiosity seekers... coming to see if I am really Dead or just trying to make Trouble.

Had MacIntyre sensed the approach of his own death? Were Porter's dreams a foretelling of the accident? Porter has an open mind on these questions. "I think the starting point for any sort of weirdness is life itself," he says. "If we're here, then it seems to me that anything is possible.

Death is the Santa Claus of the adult world. Except Santa Claus in reverse. The guy who takes all the presents away.

Life and death aren't as different from each other as I thought they were. This isn't like walking into a new country. This is like walking into a new room in the same house. This is like sharing a hallway and the same row of framed family pictures, but there's a glass wall between.

Listen,' someone whispers into my ear. 'Listen to me.' Am I dead? 'Listen,' the voice whispers. 'In some countries, you kill a monster when it's born. Other places, you kill it only when it kills someone else. Other places, you let it go, out into the forest or the sea, and it lives there forever, calling for others of its kind. Listen to me, it cries. Maybe it's just alone.

Some people think it's comforting to imagine being flung over a rainbow when you die, grabbed by your ankles by a bluebird, and swung into the void.

We're all going to die, but most of us won't go out in glory. Here's what matters, though, for men: not living, but living on in legend.

I bet you have a nice smile," he says. "Do you know how many people have died trying that?" I ask him.

She'd surrendered son and brother here, her home-hall become a brutal battlefield. Innocent of crime, yet cursed, captured, speared, worse. Hoc's daughter was savaged by sorrow, grief-gutted. Who wouldn't weep, as dawn drove feud-daggers deeper, the sun scoring her son's wounds, day breaking upon her dearest dead? They'd been her heart, her happiness, her hopes. War had wrung them ragged, dragged them to death across a court of sword-crossed kin.

Half of the dead are killed by their friends. Maybe that's the history of everything.

Adults want to talk about death way less than people my age do. Death is the Santa Claus of the adult world. Except Santa Claus in reverse. The guy who takes all the presents away. Big bag over the shoulder, climbing up the chimney carrying everything in a person's life, and taking off, eight-reindeered, from the roof.

Stiu ca oamenii mor. Stiu ca atunci cand oamenii mor, cei care raman in urma lor intotdeauna se gandesc ca s-a intamplat ceva nebunesc, fiindca moartea prin natura ei, pare o nebunie . Asta se datoreaza in parte modului in cae omaniii au privit mereu moartea, de parca e ceva oarecum special, de parca fiecare persoana care moare e un erou . Vream sa murim spectaculos, nu doar sa '' pierim '' .

jak?e ja b?d? umiera?, kiedy nie ?y?am ja wcale?