Quotes About Death

A flight suit. 'Cause you're a big bad pilot, right? You fell out of your helicopter. Now unzip your onesie so you don't bleed to death.

Do any wedding rings have happy stories?" Felix asked, sounding exasperated. "Well, yes. But those are the rings that usually end up on the fingers of happy corpses or being willed to happy people who wear them to their own weddings.

Deacon thought he'd felt like Death shit him out and served him as the dog's breakfast before… well, now he knew how it felt when the dog threw him back up and buried him in guilt.

almost grateful to leave Galen's nice little apartment—which still held hope like tattered party banners—for Tory's, which was a testament to when hope died, violently and by its own hand.

He wants to see the child, because that child will bring about the consolation that he seeks; he may not want to see the child, because once he has that encounter, he will die.

The dominant Jewish idea at the time (and subsequently) is that the Messiah brings about the messianic age, a time when death no longer has dominion, when there is a general resurrection of the dead, a final judgment, the return of exiles to their homeland, peace on earth.

For Jews, Jesus is unnecessary or a redundancy; he is not needed to save from sin or from death, since Judaism proclaims a deity ready to forgive repentant sinners and since it asserts that "all Israel has a share in the world to come" (Mishnah Sanhedrin 10:1).

The middle place. Not death. Not life. A limbo state of existence filled with the hours of turning the wheels. Eating to not feel hungry. Sleeping to not feel tired. Waking to not feel asleep. The middle place that exists between breaths, in that pause, that slight breathlessness before an exhale and an inhale. Between the crest and the valley. Where the path always meanders cliffside.

Ya no temblaba. No sentía. Todo huía de mí, como los pájaros de Andersen, hacia las Tierras Calientes. No podía llorar, y me tendí suavemente en el suelo mientras oía, o creía oír, el despacioso vaivén de la puerta del pasillo, perdiendo fuerza. Y un campanilleo medio sofocado por el silencio, el silencio que iba repitiendo una voz sin sonido: «Ven, ven, ven…». Fue la primera vez que me morí.

Se piensa a veces en la muerte. Tal vez se piensa siempre en la muerte y no se cree que pueda ser tan breve, tan simple, tan rotunda.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing.

But since We Mortals vainly try To purchase Immortality, It is as vain to Sigh and Grieve, And fearing Death, neglect to Live.

All are stoics in the grave.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

The thought of people reading in the sun, on a beach, tempts me to recommend dark books, written in the shadow of loneliness, despair, and death. Let these revelers feel a chill as they loll on their towels.

Love, truth, beauty, wisdom, and consolation against death. - Anatole Broyard in his dislike of "Lending Books" from editor Rabinowitz's collection "A Passion for Books

Je porte dans mon coeur des villes innombrables et des déserts illimités. Et le mal, le mal et la mort, étendus sur cette immensité, la couvrent comme la nuit couvre la terre. Je suis à moi seul un univers de pensées mauvaises. Il parlait ainsi parce que le désir de la femme était en lui.

But canst thou only die, withered embryo, foetus steeped in gall and scalding tears? Miserable abortion, dost thou think thou canst taste death, thou who hast never known life? If only God exists, that he may damn me. I hope for it. I wish it. God, I hate Thee! dost Thou hear? Overwhelm me with Thy damnation. To compel Thee to, I spit in Thy face. I must find an eternal hell, to exhaust the eternity of rage which consumes me.

I morti non hanno altra vita all'infuori di quella che i vivi attribuiscono loro»

The descent to Hades is the same from every place.

To what purpose should I trouble myself in searching out the secrets of the stars, having death or slavery continually before my eyes?

In 1920, shortly before he died, he was quoted in the New York Times saying, "My life was never destined to be quite happy. . . . Inherited wealth is a real handicap to happiness. It is as certain a death to ambition as cocaine is to morality.

Everything leads us to believe that there exists a spot in the mind from which life and death, the real and the imaginary, the past and the future, the high and the low, the communicable and the incommunicable will cease to appear contradictory.