Quotes About Death

Divine departed as she would have desired, in a mixture of fantasy and sordidness. Divine is dead, is dead and buried . . . . . . is dead and buried.

She went to get the revolver, which had long since been loaded by a most considerate Providence, and when she held it in her hand, weighty as a phallus in action, she realised she was big with murder, pregnant with a corpse.

My heart to my mother, my cock to the whores, my head to the hangman.

Je revoyais, sous la clarté de mon briquet, Clarius étendu sur l'herbe, sur sa croix je veux dire ; j'entendais son « Tue-moi ». Au point où il en était, ça faisait un homme voué à la mort.

Il était étendu comme crucifié. Il ne bougeait plus, mais il avait les yeux ouverts et, le regard de ces yeux, je ne l'oublierai jamais plus, même si je dure autant que Mathusalem. Sous sa barbe, il était pâle comme la mort. La flamme au poing, je le regardai : il était sur sa croix !

Il s'appelait le Louis. Crevé, fin crevé. La gerbe tremblait au bout de sa fourche, et toujours à s'en prendre au bon dieu. Comme si c'était lui, le responsable ! Au fond, c'était peut-être la première fois qu'il travaillait.

I'm not afraid of death. It's the stake one puts up in order to play the game of life.

ISABELLE Je viendrai... Je viendrai... Mais je n'ai pas le sentiment que je serai particulièrement forte et volontaire, une fois disparue. Je sens très bien au contraire que ce qui me plaira dans la mort, c'est la paresses de la mort, c'est cette fluidité un peu dense te engourdie de la mort, que fait qu'en somme, il n'y a pas des morts, mais uniquement des noyés...

All ghost stories come to this, she understood. All ghost stories end in one of these two ways: You are dead or I am dead. If people only understood this, Portia thought, they would never be frightened, they would only need to ask themselves, Who among us has died? And then it occurred to her that she was the ghost in her story. She had spent years haunting her own life, without ever noticing.

It came to me then that I could take comfort in knowing my father and my mother were dead, that death's mystery had already embraced them. They had gone on ahead, had broken the trail, and because of that, death seemed a little cozier, a little safer, a little less terrifying. Because my parents were already there - in death - I saw I could afford to enjoy the sunlight for as long as I possibly could. Sitting beside my father's grave, I was glad - and proud - to be alive.

Or if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentary as a sound Swift as a shadow, short as any dream Brief as the lightening in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth; And ere a man hath power to say "Behold!" The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion.'" "Brava!

But whether I touch him or I run, whether I'm dreaming or I'm awake, on his birthday or on all other days, my whole life has been contaminated with the fact that he is dead.

But whether I touch him or I run, whether I'm dreaming or I'm awake, on his birthday or on all other days, my whole life has been contaminated with the fact that he is dead.

Death gives us sleep, eternal youth, and immortality.

The darkness of death is like the evening twilight it makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying.

She read there, mingling sensuality and primness; she saw the hypocrisy, the refusal to see himself except as he wished to be. There, in his face, were the marks of those characteristics which were at the very root of his nature and which had made him the man he was, the man who had sent thousands to their death, the murderer who saw himself as a saint.

My death, taking the light from my eyes, gives back to the day the purity which they soiled.

Est-ce un malheur si grand que de cesser de vivre?

Indeed, men who manage to defeat time by anxiously safeguarding their tomorrow, by not allowing it to stray anywhere from the past, have in effect conquered death itself.

The jazz band stopped dead. The clock's chimes launched into the lament of the Westminster bells. A terrible silence hovered. "Ha!" said Hildesheim. "Ha!" said Bobby Moos. Right then the band sensed death.

There are always two deaths, the real one and the one people know about.

I watched her die many times. In my way, not in hers. In sunlight, in shadow, by moonlight, by candlelight. In the long afternoons when the house was empty. Only the sun was there to keep us company. We shut him out. And why not? Very soon she was as eager for what's called loving as I was - more lost and drowned afterwards.

Happy, Muriel? No, not happy. Your aim is wrong. There is no such thing as happiness. Life bends joy and pain, beauty and ugliness, in such a way that no one may isolate them. No one should want to. Perfect joy, or perfect pain, with no contrasting element to define them, would mean a monotony of consciousness, would mean death.

What would it have mattered? What does any of it matter? You don't have to look at me like that! I'm not mad! I know what's going on . . . we'd all of us be better dead!' There was a long silence; then Shahid, grimly, said: 'I expect, very soon, we all shall be.