Quotes About Death

The king dreams he is a king, And in this delusive way Lives and rules with sovereign sway; All the cheers that round him ring, Born of air, on air take wing. And in ashes (mournful fate!) Death dissolves his pride and state: Who would wish a crown to take, Seeing that he must awake In the dream beyond death's gate?

And yet, and yet, in these our ghostly lives, Half night, half day, half sleeping, half awake, How if our waking life, like that of sleep, Be all a dream in that eternal life To which we wake not till we sleep in death

if i win and you die, i dont have a home to go back to. you are my life.

Maybe learning to live with the question marks, recognizing that closure does not always occur, is all I really needed to do. I hadn't expected, coming from a world that fights to see life's beginnings in black and white, to be so comforted by a shade of gray. The notion of the water child made sense to me. What I had experienced was not a full life, nor was it a full death, but it was a real loss.

Cad é an mhaith dom eagla a bheith orm? Ní shaorfadh eagla duine ón mbás, dar ndóigh.

You have no chance of scaring me with death, all the fear possible is contained in life.

Well, life is very cruel. Very.' 'I would say', said Giles, 'it was death that was cruel. Not life.

and I grew up with no one. Except my grandmother. And even she died.

One day we shall die. But all the other days we shall be alive.

when it came to dying, I was scared. Not of being dead, that I could not comprehend, to be nothing was impossible to grasp and therefore really nothing to be scared of, but the dying itself I could comprehend, the very instant when you know that now comes what you have always feared, and you suddenly realise that every chance of being the person you really wanted to be, is gone for ever, and the one you were, is the one those around you will remember.

I was scared. Not of being dead, that I could not comprehend, to be nothing was impossible to grasp and therefore nothing really to be scared of, but the dying itself I could comprehend, the very instant when you know that now comes what you have always feared, and you suddenly realise that every chance of being the person you really wanted to be, is gone for ever, and the one you were, is the one those around you will remember.

As I fell asleep, I knew I would dream, and I dreamed first that I knew why I dreamed, why humans dream. We dream, quite simply, so we know we're not dead.

Why will I bury you? So that one day I might disturb your grave.

Death is a veil which those who live call life, Sleep and it is lifted.

Thou dirgeOf the dying year, to which this closing nightWill be the dome of a vast sepulcher.

The One remains, the many change and pass;Heaven's light forever shines, earth's shadows fly;Life, like a dome of many-colored glass,Stains the white radiance of eternity,Until Death tramples it to fragments—Die,If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!

I weep for Adonais [John Keats]—he is dead!Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tearsThaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!

To that high capital, where kingly DeathKeeps his pale court in beauty and decay,He came.

He lives, he wakes—'tis Death is dead, not he.

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep -- he hath awakened from the dream of life -- 'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep with phantoms an unprofitable strife.

O weep for Adonis - He is dead." "Peace. He is not dead he doth not sleep - he hath wakened from the dream of life

The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments.—Die, If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek! Follow where all is fled!—Rome's azure sky, Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.

The splendors of the firmament of time May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not; Like stars to their appointed height they climb And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil.

I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear,— Till death like sleep might steal on me And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.