Quotes About Death

V?a nãy anh khóc là c? t??ng Nh?t L?c ?ã ch?t, bây gi? khóc là vì ?ã trông th?y Nh?t L?c v?n còn s?ng…

The timid die of hunger, the bold of overeating.

Chunsheng," gli dissi, "non devi assolutamente fare il pazzo, i morti stessi vorrebbero tornare a vivere, un uomo sano e forte come te non può morire!" Poi aggiunsi: "La vita te l'hanno data tuo padre e tua madre, se non la vuoi più, devi prima chiederlo a loro". "Mio padre e mia madre sono morti da tempo," disse Chunsheng asciugandosi le lacrime. "A maggior ragione, allora, devi vivere e bene, pensaci: hai fatto tante guerre in giro per il mondo, è stato forse facile restare in vita?

Ah, gli uomini! Per quanto travagliata sia stata la loro esistenza, sanno ancora consolarsi in punto di morte.

Jiazhen ha avuto una bella morte, serena, dignitosa. Non si è lasciata nessun'ombra alle spalle; non come certe donne del villaggio, che anche dopo morte sono oggetto di chiacchiere." Questo vecchio che mi sedeva di fronte usava un tono nel parlare della moglie morta più di dieci anni prima che destava nel mio intimo un senso di ineffabile tenerezza, come un prato verde che vacilla nel vento, vedevo la quiete ondeggiare in un luogo remoto.

To live is to conspire against death knowing that death is our best ally

He had never looked forward to the wisdom and other vaunted benefits of old age. Would he be able to die young—and if possible free of all pain? A graceful death—as a richly patterned kimono, thrown carelessly across a polished table, slides unobtrusively down into the darkness of the floor beneath. A death marked by elegance.

You were so beautiful when you wanted to die. When you wanted to live, you became so ugly.

and certain that life consisted of a few simple signals and decisions; that death took root at the moment of birth and man's only recourse thereafter was to water and tend it; that propagation was a fiction; consequently, society was a fiction too; that fathers and teachers, by virtue of being fathers and teachers, were guilty of a grievous sin.

Her desire was close to that of the person who drowns himself; he does not necessarily covet death so much as what comes after the drowning—something different from what he had before, at least a different world.

She did not know it, but she was actually in despair at the poverty of human emotions. Was it not irrational that there was nothing to do except weep when ten people died, just as one wept for but a single person?

He wanted to talk about the strange passion that catches hold of a man by the scruff of his neck and transports him to a realm beyond the fear of death.

Longing at eighteen for an early demise, I felt myself unfitted for it. I lacked, in short, the muscles suitable for a dramatic death. And it deeply offended my romantic pride that it should be this unsuitability that had permitted me to survive the war.

The men who indulged in nocturnal thought, it seemed to me, had without exception dry, lusterless skins and sagging stomachs. They sought to wrap up a whole epoch in a capacious night of ideas, and rejected in all its forms the sun that I had seen. They rejected both life and death as I had seen them, for in both of these the sun had had a hand.

He was always thinking of death, and this had so refined him that the physical seemed to fall away, freeing him from the pull of earth and enabling him to walk about some distance above its surface. Indeed he felt that even his distaste and hatred for the affairs of the world no longer stirred him deeply.

I somehow looked forward to death impatiently, with a sweet expectation. As i have remarked several times, the future was a heavy burden for me. From the very beginning, life has oppressed me with a heavy sense of duty. Even though i was clearly incapable of performing this duty, life still nagged at me for my dereliction. Thus I longed for the great sense of relief that death would surely bring if only, like a wrestler, I could wrench the heavy weight of life from my shoulders.

I longed for the great sense of relief that death would surely bring if only, like a wrestler, I could wrench the heavy weight of life from my shoulders.

He was a man who had already died once. There was no reason why he should feel any sense of responsibility or attachment to the world. To him, it was nothing more than a sheet of newspaper covered in the scribblings of cockroaches.

Man does not live simply in order to die.

Once the world has been transformed into something meaningful, some feel they can die without regret. Others feel that they exist in a world without meaning, so what's the point of living? But where do these two sets of feelings converge? For Hanio, both paths led to the same thing: death.

He was in a room of the Gesshuuji, which he had thought it would be impossible to visit. The approach of death had made the visit easy, had unloosed the weight that held him in the depths of being. It was even a comfort to think, from the light repose the struggle up the hill had brought him, that Kiyoaki, struggling against illness up that same road, had been given wings to soar with by the denial that awaited him.

A dead body reminds me a bit of a bottle of whisky. If you drop the bottle and it cracks, what's inside pours out. It's only natural.

it did gradually and tenaciously arouse within me a sensuous craving for such things as the destiny of soldiers, the tragic nature of their calling, the distant countries they would seem the ways they would die.

As I have remarked several times, the future was a heavy burden for me. From the very beginning, life had oppressed me with a heavy sense of duty. Even though I was clearly incapable of performing this duty, life still nagged at me for my dereliction. Thus I longed for the great sense of relief that death would surely bring if only, like a wrestler, I could wrench the heavy weight of life from my shoulders.