Quotes About Death

once more, dully menacing, comes the noise of gunfire, and already from afar, like the bill of a woodpecker, sounds the knock-knocking of a machine gun. We grow calm and are almost glad to hear again the familiar, trusty noises of death.

Die Stadt, leise schwimmend im späten Mondlicht und dem Sausen der Automobilmotoren. Häuserreihen, lang, endlos sich dehnend, Fensterreihen, und hinter sie gepackt Bündel von Schicksalen, straßenweit. Herzklopfen von Millionen Menschen, unaufhörliches Herzklopfen, wie von einem millionenfältigen Motor, langsam, langsam die Straße des Lebens entlang, mit jedem Klopfen einen geringen Millimeter näher dem Tode zu.

SevmÉ™yÉ™n adam bu dünyaya mÉ™zuniyyÉ™tÉ™ gÉ™lmiÅŸ ölüdür. Onun da quruca ad? , doÄŸulduÄŸu ay?, ili var, vÉ™ssalam.

Nobody can deceive a dying farmer!

With blinded eyes I stared at the sky, this grey, endless sky of a crazy god, who had made life and death for his amusement. In

We often made fun of them and played jokes on them, but in our hearts we trusted them. The idea of authority, which they represented, was associated in our minds with a greater insight and a more humane wisdom. But the first death we saw shattered this belief. We had to recognize that our generation was more to be trusted than theirs. They surpassed us only in phrases and in cleverness.

Why doesn't she stop worrying? Kemmerich will stay dead whether she knows about it or not. When a man has seen so many dead he cannot understand any longer why there should be so much anguish over a single individual.

Ta?u laikam gan ir t?, ka atseviš?a cilv?ka n?ve vienm?r ir n?ve, bet divu miljonu n?ve - vienm?r tikai statistika.

While they continued to write and talk, we saw the wounded and dying. While they taught that duty to one's country is the greatest thing, we already knew that death-throes are stronger.

That is Franz Kemmerich, nineteen and a half years old, he doesn't want to die. Let him not die!

But our comrades are dead, we cannot help them, they have their rest—and who knows what is waiting for us? We will make ourselves comfortable and sleep, and eat as much as we can stuff into our bellies, and drink and smoke so that hours are not wasted. Life is short.

In the afternoon, about three, he is dead. I

But every gasp lays my heart bare. This dying man has time with him, he has an invisible dagger with which he stabs me: Time and my thoughts.

I merely crawl still farther under the coffin, it shall protect me, though Death himself lies in it. Before

The youngster will hardly survive the carrying, and at the most he will only last a few days. What he has gone through so far is nothing to what he's in for till he dies. Now he is numb and feels nothing. In an hour he will become one screaming bundle of intolerable pain. Every day that he can live will be a howling torture. And to whom does it matter whether he has them or not—— I nod. "Yes, Kat, we ought to put him out of his misery.

Nasza wiedza o ?yciu ogranicza si? do ?mierci.

Geriau mirti tada, kai dar nori gyventi, negu tada, kai jau nori mirti.

We are two human beings, two tiny sparks of life; outside there is just the night, and all around us, death.

Video sam u svom životu tolike mrtve da je za mene svaka bolest još uvek bila život i nada...

Jestem m?ody, mam dwadzie?cia lat; ale z ?ycia nie znam nic poza rozpacz?, ?mierci?, trwog? i spojeniem w jeden ?a?cuch najniedorzeczniejszej p?asko?ci z ca?? otch?ani? cierpienia.

This is the first time I have killed with my hands, whom I can see close at hand, whose death is my doing. Kat and Kropp and Müller have experienced it already, when they have hit someone; it happens to many, in hand-to-hand fighting especially— But every gasp lays my heart bare. This dying man has time with him, he has an invisible dagger with which he stabs me: Time and my thoughts.

I am young, I am twenty years old; yet I know nothing of life but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an abyss of sorrow.

Still the little piece of convulsed earth in which we lie is held. We have yielded no more than a few hundred yards of it as a prize to the enemy. But on every yard there lies a dead man.

It is not against men that we fling our bombs, what do we know of men in this moment when Death is hunting us down?