Quotes About Death

Who hasn't wanted to die at one time or another?

It was as if he'd abandoned himself to his despair, but in fact, Aoyama knew, he was fervently searching for something. Something that, once found, would keep him from having to feel the pain of his wound. To just entrust oneself to time was to exterminate oneself, to temporarily accept a kind of death.

Rahu ajal matavad lapsed isasid, kuid sõja ajal isad lapsi.

El mundo contempla el gran espectáculo de lucha y muerte, cosas que le resultan difíciles de imaginar porque la imagen de la guerra es intransferible. No se puede transmitir ni con la pluma ni con la voz ni con la cámara. La guerra es una realidad solo para aquellos que están apresados en su interior, sangriento, sucio y repugnante. Para otros no es sino una página en un libro o unas imágenes en una pantalla; nada más.

El hombre siempre muere solo: el momento de la muerte, es el momento más solitario de la vida Ébano - Lalibela 1975

We are in a world in which misery condemns some to death and transforms others into monsters. The former are the victims, the latter are the executioners. There is no one else.

Whiteness is often associated with finality, with the end, with death. In those cultures in which people live with the fear of death, mourners dress in black, to scare death away from themselves, isolate it, confine it to the deceased. But here, where death is regarded as another form, another shape of existence, mourners dress in white and dress the deceased in white: whiteness is here the color of acceptance, consent, of a surrender to fate.

The world contemplates the great spectacle of combat and death, which is difficult for it to imagine in the end, because the image of war is not communicable – not by the pen, or the voice, or the camera. War is a reality only to those stuck in its bloody, dreadful, filthy insides. To others it is pages in a book, pictures on a screen, nothing more.

Since my earliest childhood a barb of sorrow has lodged in my heart. As long as it stays I am ironic — if it is pulled out I shall die.

No one comes back from the dead, no one has entered the world without crying; no one is asked when he wishes to enter life, nor when he wishes to leave.

So to be sick unto death is not to be able to die -- yet not as though there were hope of life; no, the hopelessness in this case is that even the last hope, death, is not available. When death is the greatest danger, one hopes for life; but when one becomes acquainted with an even more dreadful danger, one hopes for death. So when the danger is so great that death has become one's hope, despair is the disconsolateness of not being able to die.

He cannot become old, for he has never been young; he cannot become young, for he has already become old; in a way he cannot die, for he has never lived; in a way he cannot live, for he is already dead.

No one ever comes back from the dead., no one ever enters the world without weeping; no one is ever asked when he wishes to enter life, no one is ever asked when he wishes to leave.

From earliest childhood, an arrow of grief has been embedded in my heart. As long as it remains there, I am ironic — if it is drawn out, I will die.

Unless you grasp that it requires all the strength of spirit to die, that the hero always dies before his death, you will not come particularly far in your observations on life.

For, humanly speaking, death is the last thing of all; and, humanly speaking, there is hope only so long as there is life. But Christianly understood death is by no means the last thing of all, hence it is only a little event within that which is all, an eternal life; and Christianly understood there is in death infinitely much more hope than merely humanly speaking there is when there not only is life but this life exhibits the fullest health and vigor.

But a sad fatality hung over this young girl. She had been given to seven husbands, all of whom had perished in the bride-chamber.

That instant he dies – for one who does not understand that the whole power of the spirit is required for dying, and that the hero always dies before he dies, that man will not get so very far with his conception of life.

What matters is to find my purpose, to see what it really is that God wills that I shall do; the crucial thing is to find a truth that is truth for me, to find the idea for which I am willing to live and die

I know there is a special bond between us, one that the others envy and resent; it is because she and I both stand at the gateway, I of my life, she of her death, and we both know that it is a revolving door.

In that Manhood crucified; And each thought and deed unruly Do to death, as He has died. Simply to His grace and wholly Light and life and strength belong, And I love, supremely, solely, Him the holy, Him the strong.

Dying never made a man better than he was when he was living.

Music, love, death. Certainly a triangle of sorts; maybe even an eternal one. The only people who can see the whole picture, he murmured, are the ones who step out of the frame. (The ground beneath her feet.)

Because if the whole universe could just explode out of Nothing and then just Be, don't you see that the opposite could also be true? That it is possible to implode and Un-Be as well as to explode and Be? That it's possible to implode and Un-Be as well as to explode and Be? That all human beings, Napoleon Bonaparte, for example, or the emperor Akbar, or Angelina Jolie or your father, could simply return to Nothing once they're...done? In a sort of Little, by which I mean personal, Un-Bang?