Quotes About Death

El propio vivir es morir, porque no tenemos un día más en nuestra vida en que no tengamos, por ello, un día menos.

Dormir (...) Una nada con respiración por fuera, una muerte leve de la que se despierta con nostalgia y frescor, un ceder los tejidos del alma al masaje del olvido.

Morrer é só não ser visto.

La muerte es un recodo del camino, morir es sólo no ser ya visto.

Muerte somos y muerte vivimos. Nacemos muertos, muertos pasamos y muertos ya, irrumpimos en la Muerte.

I've always felt that virtue lies in obtaining what is out of one's reach, in living where one isn't, in being more alive after death than during life, in achieving something impossible, something absurd, in overcoming – like an obstacle – the world's very reality.

Convivir es morir. Para mí, sólo mi autoconsciencia es real; los demás son fenómenos inciertos en esa conciencia, y sería enfermizo prestarles una realidad muy verdadera.

Life would be intolerable if we were conscious of it. Happily, we are not. We live with the same unconsciousness as animals, in the same futile vain way, and if we think in advance about death (which they, in all probability, without being dogmatic do not do), we think about it through the veils of so many oblivions, so many distractions and meanderings, that it can hardly be said we think about it at all.

Ä°stemeden var?m ve istemeden öleceÄŸim. OlduÄŸum ÅŸeyle olmad???m ÅŸey aras?nda, hayal ettiÄŸim ÅŸeyle hayat?n beni yapt??? ÅŸey aras?nda bir boÅŸluÄŸum.

Derdimiz gönül eÄŸlendirmekse, hata etmiÅŸ olaca??z. Tek yapt???m?z sevmekse, ölebiliriz.

Everything in our activities that we hold to be superior participates in death and is death. What are ideals but an admission that life is worthless? What is art but the negation of life? A statue is a dead body, chiselled to capture death in incorruptible matter. Pleasure itself, which seems to be an immersion in life, is in fact an immersion in ourselves, a destruction of the relations between us and life, an excited shadow of death.

Ah, l'orrore di morire! E trovare il mistero faccia a faccia senza poter evitarlo, senza potere...

L'animale teme la morte perché vive, e anche l'uomo, e perché gli è ignota. Solo a me è dato di temerla con orrore perché conosco tutta la sua estensione e il suo mistero, perché misuro la sua infinità oscurità

Quando eu abandonar o meu ser como uma cadeira donde me levanto Deixar atrás o mundo como a um quarto donde saio, Abandonar toda esta forma, de sentidos e pensamento, de sentir as coisas, Como uma capa que me prenda, Quando de vez minha alma chegar à superfície da minha pele E dispersar o meu ser pelo universo exterior, Seja com alegria que eu reconheça que a Morte Vem como um sol distante na antemanhã do meu novo ser.

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 paper wrapper, to remove like a heavy suit – next to the big bed – the involuntary effort of being.

Ölüm bir kurtuluÅŸtur, çünkü ölen insan?n kimseye ihtiyac? kalmaz. Zavall? köle zorla kurtulmuÅŸ olur zevklerinden, ac?lar?ndan, arzulanan ve bitmek bilmeyen hayattan. Kral vazgeçemediÄŸi mülklerinden kurtulur. Zaferden zafere koÅŸanlar, hayatlar?n? adad?klar? zaferlerden kurtulur.

It's enough for me to want something for that thing to die. My destiny, however, is not powerful enough to prove deadly to just anything. It has the unfortunate disadvantage of being deadly only to those things I want.

El amor más grande es, por tanto, la muerte o el olvido, o la renuncia, todos los amores que son otros tantos absurdiandos del amor.

Disasters in novels are always beautiful because no real blood is shed in them, nor do the dead rot; in novels, not even rottenness is rotten.

All that I've had is like this high and diversely identical sky, tatters of nothing tinged by a distang light, fragments of pseudo-life gilded by death from afar with its sad smile of whole truth. All I've had has amounted to my not knowing how to search, like a feudal lord of swamps at twilight, solitary prince of a city of empty tombs.

All that I've had is like this high and diversely identical sky, tatters of nothing tinged by a distant light, fragments of pseudo-life gilded by death from afar with its sad smile of whole truth. All I've had has amounted to my not knowing how to search, like a feudal lord of swamps at twilight, solitary prince of a city of empty tombs.

Spar was not afraid of death; death was solitude and peace and the end of fear. Life was far more frightening.

A man who takes into consideration the feelings of others even when arranging the manner of his own death shows a nobility of character which compels the admiration of all classes.

Are your friends as good as MY friends? I can discern the nod of of assent but doubt it. My own friends are far better, they are famous people and they are all dead. Who, you may ask, are those friends of mine, and why are they dead? It is a fair question. They are dead because, had they lived, they would have died anyway from extreme old age and decrepitude.