Quotes About Death

Never having been dead, it was merely speculation.

That was a time when only the deadcould smile.

And if I die, then who Will write my poems to you?

And you, my friends who have been called away, I have been spared to mourn for you and weep, not as a frozen willow over your memory, but to cry to the world the names of those who sleep. What names are those! I slam shut the calendar, down on your knees, all! Blood of my heart, the people of Leningrad march out in even rows, the living, the dead: fame can't tell them apart.

Don't kiss me, I am weary - Death will kiss me.

In those years only the dead smiled, Glad to be at rest: And Leningrad city swayed like A needless appendix to its prisons.

You will not live again. You will not rise from the snow Twenty-eight holes from the bayonet Five from the gun. I have made a shroud for my friend, Sad cloth. She loves, loves blood This Russian earth.

I didn't want this kind of death, The time-frame that I chose was different.

The poet has to die many times, Foolish child: he himself chose this way - He couldn't bear the first outrage, He didn't know at what door he stood, He didn't understand what kind of road Would open up before him...

Only the dead smiled back in those days, Being at peace and safe from abuse.

That old Cagliostro does weird things, He's a most elegant devil , But he won't cry with me over death And he doesn't know what conscience is.

Cold clouds of incense Hide the height of the sky, A burst of wind and everything opens. We understand. The drama is over, This is not the third autumn. This is death.

Did not scold me, did not praise me, Like friends and like enemies. Only left his soul to me And then said, "Now keep in peace." And one thing worries me so: If this moment he will die, God's archangel will come to me For his soul from the sky. How then will I hide her so, How to hide it from God's eyes? She, the soul, that cries and sings so Must be in His paradise.

With pride your spirit is darkened For this you won't know the world at all. You say that this faith is a dream And mirage is this capital. You say that my country is sinful, Your country is godless, I scream. May the guilt still lie upon us -- We can correct and redeem. Around you are water and flowers Why seek a beggar and sinner, my dear? I know that you're sick very badly: You seek death and the end you fear.

With pride your spirit is darkened For this you won't know world at all. You say that this faith is a dream And mirage is this capital. You say that my country is sinful, Your country is godless, I scream. May the guilt still lie upon us -- We can correct and redeem. Around you are water and flowers Why seek a beggar and sinner, my dear? I know that you're sick very badly: You seek death and the end you fear.

As the presence of those we love is as a double life, so absence, in its anxious longing and sense of vacancy, is as a foretaste of death.

The day Somebody McSomebody put a gun to my breast and called me a cat and threatened to shoot me was the same day the milkman died.

Bilmemkim McBilmemkim'in gö?süme silah dayay?p bana kedi dedi?i ve beni ölümle tehdit etti?i gün, sütçü'nün de öldü?ü gündü.

Even now I cannot believe that I am still alive and writing this account of the emperor's death. I put my hands to my eyes, wondering if what I am relating here is not all a dream - or maybe it is not a dream: perhaps it is a delusion and I am mad, the victim of some extraordinary and monstrous hallucination. How comes it that when he is dead I am still numbered among the living?

Ten days is time enough to die, to be born, to fall in love and to go mad. Ten days is a very long time.

My father was a doctor,' she says, 'a very kind man. He died in the early '70s, relatively young.' She taps the cigarette packet on the table. 'Of lung cancer.' 'Oh.' 'But the thing about that is,' she says as she exhales, 'it doesn't take very long at all.

A volte l'uomo è preso da un senso di nausea, fisica o spirituale, che lo priva di ogni volontà e determinazione e lo spinge, fiacco e allo sbando, a desiderare la morte. Allora sprofonda irresistibilmente verso la distruzione, verso un folle tuffo nel caos.

As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of the world.

Instead of my world, there would soon be only ice, snow, stillness, death; no more violence, no war, no victims; nothing but frozen silence, absence of life. The ultimate achievement of mankind would be, not just self-destruction, but the destruction of all life; the transformation of the living world into a dead planet.