Quotes About Death

XXXVII. If I shouldn't be alive When the robins come, Give the one in red cravat A memorial crumb. If I couldn't thank you, Being just asleep, You will know I'm trying With my granite lip!

Dying is a wild night and a new road

A Death blow is a Life blow to Some Who till they died, did not alive become — Who had they lived, had died but when They died, Vitality begun.

And I, could I stand by And see you freeze, Without my right of frost, Death's privilege?

It was not Death, for I stood up, And all the Dead, lie down— It was not Night, for all the Bells Put out their Tongues, for Noon.

Piangere è una piccola cosa - cosa tanto breve un sospiro. Ma cose di tale grandezza uccidono uomini e donne.

The distance that the dead have gone Does not at first appear; Their coming back seems possible For many an ardent year. And then, that we have followed them We more than half suspect, So intimate have we become With their dear retrospect.

Noi che abbiamo l'Anima moriamo piú spesso

Death is a dialogue between the spirit and the dust

I have no Life but this— To lead it here— Nor any Death—but lest Dispelled from there— Nor tie to Earths to come— Nor Action new— Except through this extent— The Realm of you—

The Bustle in a House The Morning after Death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon Earth — The Sweeping up the Heart And putting Love away We shall not want to use again Until Eternity —

There is a solitude of space A solitude of sea A solitude of death, but these Society shall be Compared with that profounder site That polar privacy A soul admitted to itself – Finite infinity.

But she and Death, acquainted

I died for Beauty—but was scarce Adjusted in the Tomb When One who died for Truth, was lain In an adjoining Room— He questioned softly Why I failed? For Beauty, I replied— And I—for Truth—Themself are One— We Brethren, are, He said— And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night— We talked between the Rooms— Until the Moss had reached our lips— And covered up—Our names—

I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm.

death's stiff stare

There's been a death in the opposite house

Hay algo que me gusta en la agonía, y es que sé que es verdad; los hombres no simulan convulsiones, no imitan el dolor. Unos ojos se vidrian, y es la muerte. Imposible de fingir las gotas de sudor sobre la frente que la inhábil angustia va ensartando.

Somebody flings a mattress out, — The children hurry by; They wonder if It died on that

But – should the play Prove piercing earnest – Should the glee – glaze – In Death's – stiff – stare – Would not the fun Look too expensive! Would not the jest – Have crawled too far!

Tis not that Dying hurts us so— 'Tis Living—hurts us more— — Emily Dickinson, from "'Tis not that Dying hurts us so—," [335], The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (Little, Brown & Co.,1960)

Life is but life, and death but death! Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!

Was dying as he thought, or different; Was it a pleasant day to die, And did the sunshine face his way?

I could not die with you, For one must wait To shut the other's gaze down,— You could not.