Quotes About Death

No longer mourn for me when I am deadThan you shall hear the surly sullen bellGive warning to the world that I am fledFrom this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell.

Of comfort no man speak:Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyesWrite sorrow on the bosom of the earth;Let's choose executors and talk of wills.

Fear no more the heat o' the sun,Nor the furious winter's rages;Thou thy worldly task hast done,Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages;Golden lads and girls all must,As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

The valiant never taste of death but once.

Nothing in his lifeBecame him like the leaving it; he diedAs one that had been studied in his deathTo throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,As 'twere a careless trifle.

If thou and nature can so gently part,The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,Which hurts, and is desir'd.

What may this mean,That thou, dead corse, again in complete steelRevisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,Making night hideous; and we fools of natureSo horridly to shake our dispositionWith thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?

One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.

Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddities now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks?

Hector is dead; there is no more to say.

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,But not remember'd in thy epitaph!

He that dies pays all debts.

The sense of death is most in apprehension,And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,In corporal sufferance finds a pang as greatAs when a giant dies.

He dies, and makes no sign.

What is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?And, live we how we can, yet die we must.

If I must die,I will encounter darkness as a bride,And hug it in my arms.

I shall laugh myself to death.

Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry.

This fell sergeant, death,Is strict in his arrest.

Cowards die a thousand deaths. The valiant taste of death but once.

To die, to sleep --To sleep, perchance to dream, ay there's the rub,For in that sleep of death what dreams may comeWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause there's the respectThat makes calamity of so long life.

When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.