Quotes About Death

Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath.

She died--this was the way she died; And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.

I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die.

It is also November. The noons are more laconic and the sunsets sterner, and Gibraltar lights make the village foreign. November always seemed to me the Norway of the year. ------ is still with the sister who put her child in an ice nest last Monday forenoon. The redoubtable God! I notice where Death has been introduced, he frequently calls, making it desirable to forestall his advances.

Le monde est oval. On apprend l'eau par la soif, et la terre par le voyage en mer; la passion par les affres, et la paix par les récits de guerre; l'amour par la mort, et les oiseaux par l'hiver.

Love can do all but raise the Dead I doubt if even that From such a giant were withheld Were flesh equivalent But love is tired and must sleep, And hungry and must graze And so abets the shining Fleet Till it is out of gaze.

We do not play on Graves— Because there isn't Room— Besides—it isn't even—it slants And People come— And put a Flower on it— And hang their faces so— We're fearing that their Hearts will drop— And crush our pretty play— And so we move as far As Enemies—away— Just looking round to see how far It is—Occasionally—

Life is death we're lengthy at

All but Death, can be Adjusted - Dynasties repaired - Systems - settled in their Sockets - Citadels dissolved . . .

It's such a little thing to weep - So short a thing to sigh - And yet - by Trades - the size of these We men and women die!

A wounded deer leaps highest, A wounded deer leaps highest, I've heard the hunter tell; 'Tis but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still. The smitten rock that gushes, The trampled steel that springs: A cheek is always redder Just where the hectic stings! Mirth is mail of anguish, In which its cautious arm Lest anybody spy the blood And, you're hurt exclaim

Morir no es casi nada, algo pasado, pero vivir incluye el morir muchas veces sin tener al alivio de estar muerto.

So proud she was to die It made us all ashamed That what we cherished, so unknown To her desire seemed. So satisfied to go Where none of us should be, Immediately, that anguish stooped Almost to jealousy.

and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground – because I am afraid –

Death is a Dialogue between The Spirit and the Dust. "Dissolve" says Death, The Spirit "Sir I have another Trust" - Death doubts it - Argues from the Ground - The Spirit turns away Just laying off for evidence An Overcoat of Clay.

My dying tutor told me that he would like to live till I had been a poet, but Death was much of Mob as I could master-then-And when far afterward-a sudden light on Orchards, or a new fashion in the wind troubled my attention- I felt a palsy, here- the Verses just relieve- (174)

The dying need but little, dear, —    A glass of water's all, A flower's unobtrusive face    To punctuate the wall, A fan, perhaps, a friend's regret,    And certainly that one No color in the rainbow    Perceives when you are gone.

Death is a dialogue between The Spirit and the Dust. Dissolve says Death-The Spirit Sir I have another Trust-

Life is but life, and death but death! Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath! And if, indeed, I fail, At least to know the worst is sweet. Defeat means nothing but defeat, No drearier can prevail!

The Overtakelessness of Those Who have accomplished Death - Majestic is to me beyond The majesties of Earth - The Soul her Not at Home Inscribes upon the Flesh - And takes a fine aerial gait Beyond the Writ of Touch.

Because I could not stop for Death He kindly stopped for me The Carriage held but just Ourselves And Immortality.

I notice where Death has been introduced, he frequently calls, making it desirable to forestall his advances.

Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam, Seek it with the knife, Baffle, if it cost you Everything in life. Then, if it have burrowed Out of reach of skill, Ring the tree and leave it, — 'Tis the vermin's will.

I like a look of Agony, Because I know it's true— Men do not sham Convulsion, Nor simulate a Throe— The Eyes glaze once—and that is Death— Impossible to feign The Beads upon the Forehead By homely Anguish strung.