Quotes About Death

I had always pictured her living a tumultuous, wayward life, hard years of bad luck-fits and starts,collapse,regret-and ill advised, desperate love affairs. I had always imagined that she'd self-destructed, likely drank herself to the kind of early death that people always call tragic

We'll take care of her, Laila jan," one of the women said with an air of self-importance. Laila had been to funerals before where she had seen women like this, women who relished all things that had to do with death, official consolers who let no one trespass on their self-appointed duties. (p. 136.)

Giti was killed, collecting pieces of her daughter's flesh in an apron, screeching hysterically. Giti's decomposing right foot, still in its nylon sock and purple sneaker, would be found on a rooftop two weeks later. At Giti's fatiha, the day after the killings, Laila sat stunned in a roomful of weeping women. This was the first time that someone whom Laila had known, been close to, loved, had died.

Too many young Afghan men are dying this way.

Tak ada lagi kebaikan di tanah ini dan kami tidak bisa melarikan diri dari kematian. Pembantaian selalu mengancam.

Laila lay there and listened, wishing Mammy would notice that she, Laila, hadn't become shaheed, that she was alive, here, in bed with her, that she had hopes and a future. But Laila knew that her future was no match for her brothers' past. They had overshadowed her in life. They would obliterate her in death. Mammy was now the curator of their lives' museum and she, Laila, a mere visitor. A receptacle for their myths. The parchment on which Mammy meant to ink their legends

Una mina. C'è un modo di morire più afghano di questo, Amirjan?

A lot of kids died. Dysentery, TB, hunger—you name it. Mostly, that damn dysentery. God, Laila. I saw so many kids buried. There's nothing worse a person can see.

Dying can be quite the career move for a young poet.

An Afghan who is afraid of dying is an Afghan who is already dead.

That's Delhi. When life gets too much for you all you need to do is to spend an hour at Nigambodh Ghat,watch the dead being put to flames and hear their kin wail for them. Then come home and down a couple of pegs of whisky. In Delhi, death and drink make life worth living

When you have counted eighty years and more, Time and Fate will batter at your door; But if you should survive to be a hundred, Your life will be death to the very core.

Lying half-asleep in his embrace, I looked up and saw on his face the same expression I saw on countless lonely faces every day. It was the homesick look of the children who were lost in the chaos of warfare, witnessing death and disaster, longing for a meaningful touch.

I was scarcely aware of the angry hands scratching and pulling at me from all directions. Instead, I closed my eyes and wished silently for death to free me.

Death had kissed her long and hard with its frozen lips, and her body was stiff. I held her in my arms, hoping the warmth of my body could bring her back to life. Ignoring my brother's presence, I wept uncontrollably. With Lulu in my arms, I walked toward the front lawn. I had chosen a burial site for Lulu - a strip of land under the cherry tree overlooking the street.

The thought of death gives the earnest person the right momentum in life and the right goal toward which he directs his momentum

Not even a suicide these days does away with himself in desperation but deliberates on this step so long and so sensibly that he is strangled by calculation, making it a moot point whether or not he can really be called a suicide, inasmuch as it was in fact the deliberating that took his life. A premeditated suicide he was not, but rather a suicide by means of premeditation.

She had died at age twelve, and by now she was nothing but the memory of love-- nothing, now, but bones.

Tears could not be equal, if I wept diamonds from the skies, Jenks whispered, empty and bereft. My word silent, though I should howl. Muffled by death, my wings can't lift me high enough to find you. I feel you within. Unaware of my pain. Not knowing why I mourn. And why I breathe alone.

Why aren't you afraid of me? I've seen my death, and you're not it.

Death and blood didn't turn on a vampire. Fear and the chance to take blood did. There was a difference.

But I knew Nick. He was too ugly to die.

People die, Rachel, Ceri said, her cheeks flushing. Not if I can help it, I snapped. And not of a broken heart. If you could, I'd be dead already.

she thought I could find a way to save her soul when she died and became an undead. Right now, I was just looking to find the rent money. I'd get to my roommate's soul later.