Quotes About Death

Mistah Kurtz--he dead.

I thought his memory was like the other memories of the dead that accumulate in every man's life,—a vague impress on the brain of shadows that had fallen on it in their swift and final passage. . .

I have wrestled with death. It is the most unexciting contest you can imagine. It takes place in an impalpable grayness, with nothing underfoot, with nothing around, without spectators, without clamor, without glory, without the great desire of victory, without the great fear of defeat, in a sickly atmosphere of tepid skepticism, without much belief in your own right, and still less in that of your adversary.

but I remember I preferred the soldier to the philosopher at the time; a preference which life has only confirmed. One was a man, and the other was either more – or less. However, they are both dead, and Mrs Beard is dead, and youth, strength, genius, thoughts, achievements, simple hearts – all dies… No matter.

And at last, in its curved and imperceptible fall, the sun sank low, and from glowing white changed to a dull red without rays and without heat, as if about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by the touch of that gloom brooding over a crowd of men.

There is a taint of death, a flavor of mortality in lies,—which is exactly what I hate and detest in the world—what I want to forget.

the men, the women, the children; the old with the young, the decrepit with the lusty—all equal before sleep, death's brother.

It was as though an animated image of death carved out of old ivory had been shaking its hand with menaces at a motionless crowd of men made of dark and glittering bronze.

But the truth was that he died from solitude, the enemy known but to a few on this Earth, and whom only the simplest of us are fit to withstand. The brilliant Costaguanaro of the boulevards had died from solititude and want of faith in himself and others.

Ja sabeu que odio, detesto, no suporto la mentida, i no perquè sigui més íntegre que vosaltres, sinó simplement perquè m'horroritza. A les mentides hi ha un tint de mort, un regust de mortalitat - exactament el que més odio del món - una cosa que vull oblidar. Em fa sentir malalt i miserable, com si mossegués alguna cosa putrefacta. Qüestió de temperament, suposo.

There is a taint of death, a flavour of mortality in lies--which is exactly what I hate and detest in the world--what I want to forget.

For the dead can live only with the exact intensity and quality of the life imparted to them by the living.

There is a taint of death, a flavor of morality in lies,-which is exactly what I hate and detest in the world-what I want to forget.

a stone image shed a miraculous tear of compassion over the incertitudes of life and death....

Morituri te salutant!

There is a taint of death, a flavour of mortality in lies

giving it up' tearfully for the twentieth time that day. . . . He rose slowly. 'What a frightful row,' he said. He crossed the room gently to look at the sick man, and returning, said to me, 'He does not hear.' 'What! Dead?' I asked, startled. 'No, not yet,' he answered, with great composure. Then, alluding with a toss of the head to the tumult in the station-yard, 'When one has got to make correct entries, one comes to hate those savages—hate them to the death.' He remained

There is a taint of death, a flavor of mortality in lies—which is exactly what I hate and detest in the world—what I want to forget. It makes me miserable and sick, like biting something rotten would do.

faithful death that never forgets in the press of work the most insignificant of its children.

Ave! Old knitter of black wool. Morituri te salutant.

Their character is built upon conventional morality. It leans on the social order. Mine stands free from everything artificial. Le They are bound in all sorts of conventions. They depend on life, which, in this connexion, is a historical fact surrounded by all sorts of restraints and considerations, a complex, organized fact open to attack at every point; whereas I depend on death, which knows no restraints and cannot be attached. My superiority is evident.

There is death in the folds of her skirt and blood about her feet. She is for no man.

Some of them must be dead, he believed. The rest would go on fighting. . . .

Those who tow'rds Acheron do not descend.