Quotes About Death

Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black. She has a knife, knife, knife, stuck in her back, back, back. She cannot breathe, breathe, breathe. She cannot cry, cry, cry. Thats why she begs, begs, begs. She begs to die, die ,die..

Killing people is easier than it should be." Dad put on his beret. "Staying alive is harder.

Had she ever enjoyed anything? Had every day been a struggle? Perhaps death would be a release, a rest for the weary.

Which was better: being alive (if that was the right word) but not remembering anything, or being dead?

What did it feel like to die? Was it a peaceful sleep? Some thought it was full of either trumpet-blowing angels or angry devils. Perhaps I was already dead.

The good soldier swears to kill. Fire the cannon, mount the barricade, lock and load. Smell your brother's blood on your shirt. Wipe your sister's brains off your face. Die, if you have to, so they'll live. Kill to keep your people alive, live to kill some more.

Broken leaves flew into the air from the violence of his thrashing, and the gore and blood kept pouring from the black hole in his belly and from his mouth - surely enough blood for ten men, a sight horrid enough to make God Himself weep - and suddenly, his boots stopped running and his form stilled and then......Death caught him.

Odysseus had twenty years to shed his battle skin. My grandfather left the battle field in France and rode home in a ship that crawled across the ocean slowly so he could catch his breath. I get on a plane in hell and get off, hours later, at home. I try to ignore death, but she's got her arm around my waist waiting to poison everything I touch.

Can you kill a ghost by driving a knitting needle through her heart?

The dead have a claim on us even heavier than that of the living, for they cannot hear our explanations, and we cannot ask their forgiveness.

You deserve to die, I whisper, suddenly realizing Iv'e said the words aloud. Excuse me? Nothing. Not nothing. You just told me that I deserve to be maggot feed. Not maggot feed, just- Dead! Forget it I don't know why I said that. Just daydreaming, I guess. Daydreaming about my death? Forget it, I repeat. Are you sure you aren't still mad that I wouldn't let you borrow my vintage fishnet leggings? More like I didn't want to borrow them

There are eight million stories in the naked city, he intoned. You remember that program? Used to be on television some years back. I remember. They had that line at the end of every show. 'There are eight million stories in the naked city. This has been one of them.' I remember it. Eight million stories, he said. You know what you got in this city, this fucked-up toilet of a naked fucking city? You know what you got? You got eight million ways to die.

We're all whirling merrily through the void on a dying planet, and gay people are just doing their usual number, being shamelessly trendy as always. Right out in front on the cutting edge of death.

Being dead means never having to do anything sneaky.

You think he just died of natural causes?" "This is New York. Murder's a natural cause in this city.

He'd disposed of her corpse by feeding it to the hogs.

Frost in January minus 20 for a week. Dead birds frozen on the branch—they fall with the first thaw like ripe fruit—death-ripened. We shall all end like them—just a stain in the snow.

upon its stalk perpetuates only the type of a determined response; there are so few elations and so few dismays to wrinkle between a laughing or a crying death, between a truthful or a lying breath.

Yet the presence of death always refreshes experience thus--that is its function: to help us deliberate on the novelty of time.

I suppose writers are cruel people. The dead do not care. It is the living who might be spared if we could quarry the message which lies buried in the heart of all human experience.

King Abdullah has died. A divisive figure in the Middle East. The sad irony is that the USA preached democracy in the face of absolute rule.

We all had lots of stories of our sad experiences - they mourned the death of my wife with me - but we were hopeful that the children would return.

Deep in earth my love is lying And I must weep alone.

I wish to weep but sorrow is stupid. I wish to believe but belief is a graveyard.