Quotes About Death

But the last girl at this school who got tangled up with the Hawthorne brothers? The last girl who spent hour after hour in that house? She died.

The wonder paradox is the miracle that we are blown away by the experiences of consciousness. Religion and art invite us to a world bigger than normal life, into contact with the weirdness of our human situation. We live within paradoxes. We feel permanent though well aware of death. The consciousness paradox is the startling fact that soft matter afloat in a bone bowl made Mozart's sonatas, Shakespeare's plays, and the whole astounding modern world.

People across history speak of being haunted by suicides and tempted by them toward the grave.

Death is no problem because when we are alive we are not dead and when we are dead we don't know it. So long as you can possibly worry about it, you've got nothing to worry about.

People forget that war is not simply about regimentals and anthems and brave soldiers. It is also about heartbreak and death and real people

You might expect me to say "life," having just woken up and all, but it's only when I'm awake that I think about dying.

Finch: Theodore Finch, in search of the Great Manifesto Violet: I don't know that what means Finch: It means 'the urge to be, to count for something, and, if death must come, to die valiantly, with acclamation - in short, to remain a memory.

There are different ways to die. There's jumping off a roof and there's slowly poisoning yourself with the flesh of another every single day.

I lost my friend to suicide a year before I lost my father to cancer. They were both ill at the same time, and they died within fourteen months of each other, but the reaction to their illnesses and deaths could not have been more different. People rarely bring flowers to a suicide.

He knows as well as I do what the Why is. It's everything changing when I was ten. It's the bullying and the fear. So much fear of everything, but mostly death. Sudden, out-of-the-blue death. It's also me being terrified of life. It's the giant emptiness in my chest. It's touching my face or my skin and feeling nothing. This is the Why of me staying home in the first place. And the Why of me eating. And the Why of me ending up here. But that doesn't mean I want to die.

I don't want to hear about the cardinal again. Because the thing of it is, that cardinal was dead either way, whether he came inside or not. Maybe he knew it, and maybe that's why he decided to crash into the glass a little harder than normal that day. He would have died in here, only slower, because that's what happens when you're a Finch. The marriage dies. The love dies. The people fade away. I

One Corpse Too Many

That's right, you got a divorce. You remarried— what about your present husband?" "He died last year." "You go through 'em," Nicolet said. "What kind of work did he do?" "He drank," Jackie said.

You don't know how easy death is. It's - it's like a door. A person simply walks through it, and she's lost to you forever.

But you said so yourself,the poor lass will die of it...Do you really want her to die? 'Yes, I'd rather she died than have a bad life.

He wept for truth which was dead, for heaven which was void. Beyond the marble walls and gleaming jewelled altars, the huge plaster Christ had no longer a single drop of blood in its veins.

There Albine lay, panting, exhausted by love, her hands clutched closer and closer to her heart, breathing her last. She parted her lips, seeking the kiss which should obliterate her, and then the hyacinths and tuberoses exhaled their incense, wrapping her in a final sigh, so profound that it drowned the chorus of roses, and in this culminating gasp of blossom, Albine was dead.

I'm a very ordinary man who's worked and fed like everyone else. I'm no longer afraid of dying, but death doesn't seem to want anything to do with me, now that I can see no point in living. I'm afraid he's forgotten me.

The festivity had reached that apogee of joy when you face the happy fate of being crushed to death.

The couple fell one atop of the other, struck down, finding consolation, at last, in death.

It was a peaceful, sunny death, a sleep without end in the calm of the countryside.

Monsieur Josserand died very quietly - a victim of his own honesty. He had lived a useless life, and he went off, worthy to the last, weary of all the petty things in life, done to death by the heartless conduct of the only human beings that he had ever loved.

Ah! si ton mari mourait... Si mon mari mourait..., répéta lentement Thérèse. Nous nous marierions ensemble, nous ne craindrions plus rien, nous jouirions largement de nos amours... Quelle bonne et douce vie!

La nuit tombait, le jardin n'était plus qu'un grand cercueil d'ombre.