Quotes About Death

There is no lonelier man in death, except the suicide, than that man who has lived many years with a good wife and then outlived her. If two people love each other there can be no happy end to it.

I'm afraid of the rain because sometimes I see me dead in it.

that beautiful detachment and devotion to stern justice of men dealing in death without being in any danger of it.

I was leading, and already I missed not working and I felt the death loneliness that comes at the end of every day that is wasted in your life.

Come aboard easy," Thomas Hudson said to them. "Keep away from the stern. We got a Kraut dying on the stern that I want to have die easy. What did you find?" "Nothing," Henry said. "Absolutely nothing.

But in the dark now and no glow showing and no lights and only the wind and the steady pull of the sail he felt that perhaps he was already dead. He put his two hands together and felt the palms. They were not dead and he could bring the pain of life by simply opening and closing them. He leaned his back against the stern and knew he was not dead. His shoulders told him.

The coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave but one?

Who do you suppose has it easier? Ones with religion or just taking it straight? It comforts them very much but we know there is no thing to fear. It is only missing it that's bad. Dying is only bad when it takes a long time and hurts so much that it humiliates you. That is where you have all the luck, see? You don't have any of that.

never asks for whom the bell tolls;it tolls for you.

Good-by,'! he said to all those who were kneeling. 'Don't be said. To die is nothing. The only bad thing is to die at the hands of this canalla.

Because, just then, death had come and rested its head on the foot of the cot and he could smell its breath.

I wonder what your idea of heaven would be — A beautiful vacuum filled with wealthy monogamists. All powerful and members of the best families all drinking themselves to death. And hell would probably an ugly vacuum full of poor polygamists unable to obtain booze or with chronic stomach disorders that they called secret sorrows.

Az – bólintott Pablo. Valami furcsa neve volt. Ilyesmi. Mi van vele? – Áprilisban meghalt. – ElÅ'bb-utóbb mindenkire sor kerül morogta Pablo sötéten. – Így végezzük mi mindnyájan. – Minden ember így végzi – állapította meg Alselmo. – Eddig még mindenki így végezte.

By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death and let it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the next.' Damned fine, eh?

I love you and respect you very much. But I will kill you dead before this day ends.

Morir no tenía importancia ni se hacía de la muerte ninguna idea aterradora. Pero vivir era un campo de trigo balanceándose a impulsos del viento en el flanco de una colina. Vivir era un halcón en el cielo. Vivir era un botijo entre el polvo del grano segado y la paja que vuela. Vivir era un caballo entre las piernas y una carabina al hombro, y una colina, y un valle, y un arroyo bordeado de árboles, y el otro lado del valle con otras colinas a lo lejos.

Dying was nothing and he had no picture of it nor fear of it in his mind. But living was a field of grain blowing in the wind on the side of a hill. Living was a hawk in the sky. Living was an earthen jar of water in the dust of the threshing with the grain flailed out and the chaff blowing. Living was a horse between your legs and a carbine under one leg and a hill and a valley and the hills beyond.

We, in games, are not fascinated by death, its nearness and its avoidance. We are fascinated by victory and we replace the avoidance of death by the avoidance of defeat.

He was not at all afraid of dying but he was angry at being trapped on this hill which was only utilizable as a place to die.

Because, just then, death had come and rested its head on the foot of the cot and he could smell its breath. Never believe any of that about a scythe and a skull, he told her. It can be two bicycle policemen as easily, or be a bird. Or it can have a wide snout like a hyena. It had moved up on him now, but it had no shape any more. It simply occupied space. Tell it to go away. It did not go away but moved a little closer. You've got a hell of a breath, he told it. You stinking bastard.

Ernest Hemingway

If one must die, he thought, and clearly one must, I can die. But I hate it.

Njega sam ubio u samoobrani - opet ?e starac naglas. - I pošteno sam ga ubio. Osim toga, pomisli, svi se me?u sobom ubijaju, na ovaj ili onaj na?in. Ribarenje me ubija koliko me i održava na životu.

your own death seemed of complete unimportance; only a thing to be avoided because it would interfere with the performance of your duty.