Quotes About Death

One truth opened another. Ona still shaded everything we did. Ona's death was the last family affair. I'd seen Man suffer. I'd seen her break. Now more than anything. I wanted to see her happy.

The little girl knew if she bit any member of her family, they would get rabies too, and she died without ever having been petted. I cried so hard Mrs. Underwood had to take me to the school nurse.

As a tribute, they had this inscribed in bronze and placed on her tombstone: She has climbed to the peaks above storm and cloud She has found the light of son and of God, I cannot say, I will not say That she is dead. She is merely flown away. —James Whitcomb Riley

The war was over, but it had taken its toll. More than 400,000 Americans had been killed and 1.7 million had been hurt in some way. And most people didn't know about the 39 WASPs who had been killed or that 16 Army nurses had died by enemy fire, and 67 had been taken prisoner, including Nurse Dottie Frakes, who was held in a Japanese concentration camp for more than three years.

waga oya no / shinuru toki ni mo / he o kokite3 Even at the time When my father lay dying I still kept farting.

If that was dying, I don't want to do it again.

Pronto se dirá de vosotros lo que suele ahora decirse de nosotros, murieron!!

FIRST WATCHER Why do people die? SECOND WATCHER Perhaps because they don't dream enough...

What matters is to be natural and calm In happiness and in unhappiness, To feel as if feeling were seeing, To think as if thinking were walking, And to remember, when death comes, that each day dies, And the sunset is beautiful, and so is the night that remains . . . That's how it is and how I want it to be . . .

Everything that surrounds us becomes part of us, it seeps into us with every experience of the flesh and of life and, like the web of a great Spider, binds us subtly to what is near, ensnares us in a fragile cradle of slow death, where we lie rocking in the wind.

Pertenço a um gênero de portugueses Que depois de estar a Índia descoberta Ficaram sem trabalho. A morte é certa. Tenho pensado nisto muitas vezes.

Se te queres matar, porque não te queres matar? Ah, aproveita! que eu, que tanto amo a morte e a vida, Se ousasse matar-me, também me mataria... Ah, se ousares, ousa!

Let us not be deceived by hope, because it betrays, or by love, because it grows weary, or by life, because it satiates but does not sate, or even by death, because it brings more than you want and less than you expect.

O que é preciso é ser-se natural e calmo Na felicidade ou na infelicidade, Sentir como quem olha, Pensar como quem anda, E quando se vai morrer, lembrar-se de que o dia morre, E que o poente é belo e é bela a noite que fica...

And leaning on the windowsill to enjoy the day, gazing at the variegated mass of the whole city, just one thought fills my soul: that I profoundly wish to die, to cease, to see no more light shining on this city or any city, to think no more, to feel no more, to leave behind the march of time and the sun like a piece of wrapping paper, to remove like a heavy suit – next to the big bed – the involuntary effort of being.

Mankind is a postponed corpse that breeds.

It sometimes occurs to me, with sad delight, that if one day (in a future I won't be part of) the sentences I write are read and admired, then at last I'll have my own kin, people who 'understand' me, my true family in which to be born and loved. But far from being born into it, I'll have already died long ago. I'll be understood only in effigy, when affection can no longer compensate for the indifference that was the dead man's lot in life.

Nada fica de nada. Nada somos. Um pouco ao sol e ao ar nos atrasamos Da irrespirável treva que nos pese Da húmida terra imposta, Cadáveres adiados que procriam. Leis feitas, 'státuas vistas, odes findas - Tudo tem cova sua. Se nós, carnes A que um íntimo sol dá sangue, temos Poente, porque não elas? Somos contos contando contos, nada.

Somos muerte. Esto, que consideramos vida, es el sueño de la vida real, la muerte de lo que verdaderamente somos.

A vida é um hospital Onde quase tudo falta. Por isso ninguém te cura E morrer é que é ter alta.

Compuestos de células vivas y en desagregación, estamos hechos de muerte.

Those who think with their reason tend to be distracted. Those who think with their emotions are sleeping. Those who think with their will are dead.

?mier? wed?ug mnie to zakr?t drogi. Umrze? - wymyka? si? spojrzeniu. S?ucham i s?ysz? jak odchodzisz, Trwaj?c jak ja przy swym istnieniu. Ziemia jest przecie? z nieba ca?a. K?amstwu wszak nikt nie uwi? gniazda. Ka?dy tu kiedy? si? odnalaz? ?wiadom, ?e droga w kr?g i prawda

Quando eu morrer, filhinho, Seja eu a criança, o mais pequeno. Pega-me tu ao colo E leva-me para dentro da tua casa. Despe o meu ser cansado e humano E deita-me na tua cama. E conta-me histórias, caso eu acorde, Para eu tornar a adormecer. E dá-me sonhos teus para eu brincar Até que nasça qualquer dia Que tu sabes qual é.   Esta