Quotes About Death

And then his noise falls completely silent- And he stops struggling- And looking right into my eyes- He dies. My Todd dies.

But it's obvious since the beginning that wars make no sense. You kill people to tell them you want to stop killing them.

You're never more alive than in battle." "Never more dead after," I say. "Ah, philosophy," he smiles. "I didn't know you had it in you.

Maybe probably ain't all that comforting a word when it's maybe yer not dying.

The purpose of a volcano is to die,' she says. 'Is this not what you strive for?' 'The purpose of a volcano is to die, my lady,' says the volcano, 'but as angrily as possible.

You felt the excitement when we chased them up the hill," the Mayor's saying. "I saw it. It blazed through your Noise like a fire. Every man in the army felt the same thing. You're never more alive than in battle." "Never more dead after," I say.

Yer a dead man!" Davy shouts, going in a full circle with the horse jumping and rearing. "Yer half right," I say.

Yer alive," he says, and he is so relieved, so happy, to see me in the middle of all that death where I am alone and alone and alone for ever, he is so happy that I vow to kill him -

Isn't dying once enough? he thinks. Am I going to have to keep doing it? But then he thinks, No. Because you can die before you're dead, too.

And everything I might have been, the different futures I might have taken, all my different lives and deaths that existed in their endless possibilities were extinguished in a single repetition of her three words. "You will hunt." When you predict the future, when you do so strongly and you cling to it, how much of that future do you then cause to happen? And all that might have been was long, long gone.

Oh, yeah?" Seth says, growing angry. "How did you die again? Freak accident falling down the stairs?

His Noise saying, No, no, not now, not NOW- And then he says, Viola? "I'm here, Todd," I say, my voice breaking, shouting with desperation. "I'm here!" And he says Voila? again- Asking it- Asking like he's not sure I'm there- And then his Noise falls completely silent- And he stops struggling- And looking right into my eyes- He dies. My Todd dies.

His face is trying to look calm but everyone can hear how badly he don't wanna die, how childlike his wishes are sounding, how loud his newly uncured Noise is spilling out all over the place.

Death is suddenly objectionable to you when the dead has a name you know?

That is what death is, a state of constant hunger, for the things you've left behind, for your memories, for life.

Clap your hands if you believe in death. Believing in fairies is much easier, I think. Death is an end, an emptiness, a darkness. People want to believe in the light. Go to the light, they say. We fear the darkness and the unknown, the fairies in the ravine, the world behind the mirror.

An overdose could induce respiratory failure: you fall into a sleep so deep and blissful that you stop breathing. At small hospitals, patients were being admitted close to death. In trailers and dingy apartments and remote farmhouses, police and paramedics would arrive to a familiar scene—the OxyContin overdose—and set about trying to revive the user.

Overdoses had now surpassed car accidents to become the leading cause of preventable death in America. In a midyear update to the Sacklers in June 2016, staffers told the family that, according to surveys, nearly half of all Americans knew someone who had been addicted to prescription opioids.

The death of the actor Heath Ledger that January, from an overdose involving a long list of painkillers, including oxycodone, brought a new level of national attention to the problem.

Her father died in 1987, she pointed out, long before the introduction of OxyContin, and she and her siblings had agreed to sell their one-third stake in Purdue to her uncles soon thereafter. So, none of Arthur's heirs had profited from OxyContin, she insisted.

It wasn't even a good note. 'If you are reading this I am probably dead.' What sort of a note is that?

Death was like an unpleasant neighbor. You didn't talk about him for fear he might hear you and decide to pay a visit.

The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn's ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.

Bad business last night. Chances are, that would be all Graham had to say about the death of a man he had known his whole life. These folk knew all about death. They killed their own livestock. They died from fevers, falls, or broken bones gone sour. Death was like an unpleasant neighbor. You didn't talk about him for fear he might hear you and decide to pay a visit.