Quotes About Death

he lay in his stony crypt like his own corpse, hardly breathing, his heart hardly beating-and yet lived as intensively and dissolutely as ever a rake had lived.

He's got a brave heart," Savannah said. "And those feathers are sexy." "You think anything that is breathing is sexy," I said. "Breathing is sexy. Dead things are awful hard to have a good time with," Savannah said. The sad part was she wasn't joking. No sexual act was too perverse or outlandish for her to consider. I hoped she drew the line well before necrophilia, but I also knew her lines were drawn with chalk.

Vuestra vida se aleja como el sol poniente, la muerte se acerca como las sombras de la noche.

Within that moment was trust, compassion, and our mutual sense of irony. He was carrying death within him and I was carrying life. We were both aware of that, I know.

This is what I know - Sam is dead. My brother is dead. My mother is dead. My father is dead. My husband is dead. My cat is dead. My dog, who was dead in 1957, is still dead. Yet still I keep thinking that something wonderful is about to happen. Maybe tomorrow.

What is the song about? I asked. -Death, he answered with a laugh. But don't worry, nobody dies, it is the death of love.

Looking back, long after his death, our way of living seems a miracle, one that could only be achieved by the silent synchronization of the jewels and gears of a common mind.

It occurred to me that I was on a run of suicides. Akutagawa. Dazai. Plath. Death by water, barbiturates, and carbon monoxide poisoning; three fingers of oblivion, outplaying everything.

A disconcerting image of the cameraman thrown in a shallow grave passed through my sights; he sat up in the dark and noticed the blanket of his bed was made of sod.

My love for him could not save him. His love for life could not save him. It was the first time that I truly knew he was going to die.

I finally placed where the images in my morning dream might have come from - the Battle of Shiloh in the Civil War. Thousands of young soldiers lay dead on the battleground in a peach orchard in full bloom. It was said that the blossoms fell upon them, covering them like a thin layer of fragrant snow. I wondered why I had dreamed that, but then again, why do we dream about anything?

That is death. A disappearing act.

My mother was real and her son was real. When he died she buried him. Now she is dead. Mother Courage and her children, my mother and her son. They are all stories now.

Mothers,fathers,our kind,tell me again that death doesn't matter.Tell me it's just a limitation of vision ,a fold of landscape,a deep flax-and-poppy-filled gully hidden on the hill, pleat in our perception a somersault of existence,natural,even beneficent even a gift,the only key to the red-lacquered door at the end of the hall,"water within water," those old stories.

I have been afraid all my life that I am going to die. All my life it has been stuffed in my imagination.

Pantheism believes that all things are linked in a profound unity. All things have a common origin and a common destiny. All things are interconnected and interdependent. In life and in death we humans are an inseparable part of this unity, and in realizing this we can find our joy and our peace.

Any group that allows children to die unnecessarily is sinister. And if these groups invoked the name of the Flying Spaghetti Monster instead of God, their children would likely be put in foster care and their adults in an institution. But because they claim to act in the name of God, public officials often turn a blind eye. Another

Also, if you're going to say that animal studies predict events in people, then we should stop eating chocolate, which can cause heart arrhythmias and occasionally death in dogs.

Mom points at the gravesites all around us. "We all die, Lucy. Me. You. Everybody. But you know what we do first?" I shake my head. "We pretend that it's not going to happen. We make believe that we're never going to die. do you know what that's called?" "Lying?" I say. "Living, Lucy. It's called living...

I'm not one of those people who think that cancer is some kind of jousting match. People live or die based on good medicine, good luck, and the grace of God. The people that die from it did not fail. The people who live will die another day.

I mean people die every day, and the world is still spinning." Mom takes my paper and turns it around to study it. "That's a good thing." "Are you talking about life, death, or my bird?" "Life is good. Death is a mystery. The bird needs work.

In fact, all the additional knowledge gained by an irrationally constituted society may but enlarge and enhance the powers of death and destruction.

We will not ever know ourselves again. Like the light that moves between the bars of light we sometimes called death, we , too, will have flowered, even with such unquenchable flames as these.

In the end, the art of hunger can be described as an existential art. It is a way of looking death in the face, and by death I mean death as we live it today: without God, without hope of salvation. Death as the abrupt and absurd end of life