Quotes About Death

You never know how the loss will come -- whether he will lose you or you him, but it is a certainty that there will be a shattering involuntary separation. Death is the abandonment caused not by betrayal but by fidelity.

One is still what one is going to cease to be and already what one is going to become. One lives one's death, one dies one's life.

On a personal level, all of us have to come to terms with the fact that, sooner or later, we will die. And yet today no aspect of human existence, not even the ending of it, is immune to the hegemonic pretensions of neoclassical economic thought. Not only the intellectual poverty, but also the emotional poverty, of what it has to say about death give us little reason to believe that it will be able to face up to the fact of its own mortality. 4.

If you are a Buddhist, inspire yourself by thinking of the bodhisattva. If you are a Christian, think of the Christ, who came not to be served by others but to serve them in joy, in peace, and in generosity. For these things, these are not mere words, but acts, which go all the way, right up to their last breath. Even their death is a gift, and resurrection is born from this kind of death. (157)

The answer is to stop struggling, to go into the fear. Let her go. The cause of the unhappiness isn't the situation, but the resistance. You're making disease and decay and death evil, but they're not evil, they just are. The clinging is the cause of the unhappiness. Release is the answer. Let her sink.

Death releases the energy into air. If a true catastrophe is looming, the disturbance becomes such that a sensitive individual may become highly troubled by it. He may be aware exactly when and where it will occur. He may see an aura around people who are soon to die. Or he may see images of the disaster beforehand...

The death for the driver was egregiously bad: being impaled is never anyone's exit of choice.

Apparently orgasm is the only point where your mind becomes completely empty—you think of nothing for that second. That's why it's so compelling—it's a tiny taste of death. Your mind is void—you have nothing in your head save white light.

Racism is not merely about individual chauvinism, prejudice, or bigotry. Ruth Glimore reminds us that it is about the ways different groups are 'vulnerable to premature death,' whether at the hands of the state or structures that kill.

Jones generally forbade drinking alcohol, but on this night at the Geary Boulevard temple he told the P.C. members that it was all right for once. Each of them drank some, and after their cups were emptied Jones informed them that their wine had been laced with poison—all of them would die within forty-five minutes to an hour. There was no antidote. They were doomed.

In death, I love you still. So, forward! Aspire! Achieve! I remain, Daniel Blessing

Murdoch's gun was the only thing in my life, the only thing worth living for. It gets like that sometimes, with instruments of death.

Carol, a swing-shift cocktail waitress in the Bird of Paradise's show lounge had gotten home (guesswork, here) around 2:15 - 2:30, poured herself a glass of milk, and had opened the back door of the kitchen for reasons unknown. (Fingerprints were later found on the outside knob that, while smudged, didn't belong to either girl.) She had opened the door, and died. Suddenly, quietly, without disturbing her sleeping roommate only a few feet away.

Wars are indeed fought by children, by young people who have little to say in where they are sent to die.

To his left he saw the other regiments, men from New York, Pennsylvania, Michigan. Men like these, he thought, just farmers and shopkeepers, and now we are soldiers, and now we are about to die.

They kill you before you die...

You don't want me to die alone, do you? Nobody should have to die alone." "You won't be alone," said Rachel. "The assassin will be there with you.

Okay, obviously I didn't die or I wouldn't be able to relate this tender little narrative. Unless, of course, I'm a ghost, writing these words through an Ouija board. That would be pretty cool, but also incredibly time consuming, and the human I was channeling through would probably try to steal all the credit.

I could imagine his eulogy: "Fucker's dead. Throw some dirt on him. Let's go play some poker.

Grandpa Zachary had died.

What a nutzo way to die, huh? Not that it's a competition, but my demise is going to be far more spectacular than my wife's.

My problem is that Guffaw is dead in the trunk of this car, and we may very well be joining him. In being dead. Not in being in the trunk.

My tombstone: Andrew Mayhem. He survived knives, chainsaws, guns, and being buried alive. Then the dumbass drank poison.

How are your dead bones doing today?" "They've been deader." "Good, good, good. That's good. Have a seat on that ice-cold stool and we'll look you over, okay?