Quotes About Death

Death is not extinguishing the light It is simply putting out the lamp Because the dawn has come

Death belongs to life as birth does The walk is in the raising of the foot as in the laying of it down

And because I love this life I know I shall love death as well. The child cries out when From the right breast the mother Takes it away, in the very next moment To Find in the left one Its consolation.

And because I love this life, I know I shall love death as well. (#95)

In life the one becomes many. In death the many become one.

On the day when death will knock at thy door what wilt thou offer to him? Oh, I will set before my guest the full vessel of my life---I will never let him go with empty hands. All the sweet vintage of all my autumn days and summer nights, all the earnings and gleanings of my busy life will I place before him at the close of my days when death will knock at my door.

The night kisses the fading day whispering to his ear, "I am death, your mother. I am to give you fresh birth.

On death the many become one, in life the one becomes many.

When Death comes and whispers to me, "Your days are ended," let me say to him, "I have lived in love and not in mere time." He will ask, "Will your songs remain?" I shall say, "I know not, but this I know, that often when I sang I found my eternity.

Death, thy servant, is at my door. He has crossed the unknown sea and brought thy call to my home. The night is dark and my heart is fearful---yet I will take up the lamp, open my gates and bow to him my welcome. It is thy messenger who stands at my door. I will worship him placing at his feet the treasure of my heart. He will go back with his errand done, leaving a dark shadow on my morning; and in my desolate home only my forlorn self will remain as my last offering to thee.

Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last song---the joy that makes the earth flow over in the riotous excess of the grass, the joy that sets the twin brothers, life and death, dancing over the wide world, the joy that sweeps in with the tempest, shaking and waking all life with laughter, the joy that sits still with its tears on the open red lotus of pain, and the joy that throws everything it has upon the dust, and knows not a word.

When we feel for certain that we are alive, then we know for certain that we shall go on living. Those who have never put life to the test, in all possible ways, these keep on crying out: Life is fleeting, Life is waning, Life is like a dew-drop on a lotus leaf. But, isn't life inconstant? Only because its movement is unceasing. The moment you stop this movement, that moment you begin to play the drama of Death.

Even he whose near ones have all died, one by one, is not alone-companionship comes for him from behind the screen of death.

Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves.

When death comes and whispers to me 'Thy days are ended.' let me say to him, 'I have lived in love and not in mere time.' He will ask 'Will thy songs remain?' I shall say 'I know not, but this I know that often when I sang I found my eternity.

Whenever Power removes all checks from its path to make its career easy, it triumphantly rides into its ultimate crash of death.

The life is the crossing of a sea, where we meet in the same narrow ship. In death we reach the shore and go to our different worlds.

Beauty is sweet to us, because she dances to the same fleeting tune with our lives. Knowledge is precious to us, because we shall never have time to complete it. All is done and finished in the eternal Heaven. But earth's flowers of illusion are kept eternally fresh by death.

Even so, in death the same unknown will appear as ever known to me. And because I love this life, I know I shall love death as well. The child cries out when from the right breast the mother takes it away, in the very next moment to find in the left one its consolation.

IN death the many becomes one;in life the one becomes many.

This truth has not only a subjective value, but is manifested in every department of our life. And nations who sedulously cultivate moral blindness as the cult of patriotism will end their existence in a sudden and violent death.

Come and rejoice, for April is awake. Fling yourselves into the flood of being, bursting the bondage of the past. April is awake. Life's shoreless sea is heaving in the sun before you. All the losses are lost, and death is drowned in its waves. Plunge into the deep without fear, with the gladness of April in your heart.

Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.

Where history showed us only ramparts and frontiers, poetry discovered a mysterious predestination that makes two adversaries, whose meeting is inexorable, worthy of each other. And Homer asks no quarter, save from poetry, which repossesses beauty from death and wrests from it the secret of justice that history cannot fathom. To the darkened world poetry alone restores pride, eclipsed by the arrogance of the victors and the silence of the vanquished.