Quotes About Death

Death does not bow to each person who passes her, does not sweep out her arm respectfully to show the way, speaks no profound words, unlocks no bolts. The key upon her chest is never needed, for the Last Door stands always open. She herds the dead through impatiently, heedless of rank or fame or quality. She has an ever-lengthening queue to get through. A blind procession, inexhaustible.

I have a plan," said Nothing. "Does it involve a sword?" asked Jaud. A pause. "All my plans do." "Do you have a sword?" Another. "No." "How will your plan work without one?" muttered Sumael. A third. "Death waits for us all.

Vengeance only walks a circle. From blood, back to blood. Death waits for us all. You can follow your path to her bent under a burden of rage. I did, for many years. You can let it poison you.

It always catches people by surprise, the moment of their death, even when they should see it coming. They always think they're special, somehow expect a reprieve. But no one's special.

The older you get, the more swiftly the years pass. It's easy to forget how quickly people die.

But easy is for the dead,

The Great Leveller,' Dogman whispered to himself, since he was in a thoughtful frame of mind. That's what the hillmen call him. Death, that is. He levels all differences. Named Men and nobodies, south or north. He catches everyone in the end, and he treats each man the same. Seemed

It's an easy thing to make a man a carcass. He knew a thousand ways to do it. But once you've done it, there's no going back. One minute he's a man, all full up with hopes, and thoughts, and dreams. A man with friends, and family, and a place where he's from. Next minute he's mud.

You killed him all to bits, and robbed everyone who knew him, and cut all the good he might ever do out of the world.

And so the doubts begin... Our doom draws nearer, and every man sees it. A strange thing, death. Far away, you can laugh at it, but as it comes closer it looks worse and worse. Close enough to touch, and no one laughs.

Perhaps we'll have some answers, at least, before the end. I always dreamed of dying well-informed.

They say you can see all the beauty in the world in the way a hanged man swings.

It was a place of wild abandon, wild hope, wild despair, everything at extremes and nothing in moderation, dreams trodden into the muck and new ones sucked from bottles to be vomited up and trodden down in turn. A place where the strange was commonplace and the ordinary bizarre, and death might be along tomorrow so you'd best have all your fun today.

Poison? A slow death twitching and puking on the Arch Lector's lovely mosaic floor? Or just pitching onto my face on his table? But there was really no option but to grasp the glass and take a hearty swig. The

Body found floating by the docks . . .

Death is a bored clerk, with too many orders to fill. There is no reckoning. No profound moment. It creeps up on us from behind, and snatches us away while we shit. He

Dignity wasn't much help to the living, it was none to the dead.

Is it coming for me? Several tons of rock, about to splatter my remains across the city? What a ludicrously random way to die. He felt his mouth twitch up in a faint smile.

Body found floating by the docks," he breathed "bloated by seawater and horribly mutilated... far... far beyond recognition. Were the injuries inflicted before or after death?" he asked the ceiling breezily. "Was the mysterious deceased a man or a woman even?" he shrugged. "Who can say?

Do you think this is what Ankran would have wanted?' he muttered. 'To be dead?' said Jaud. 'I doubt it.

Once you set your mind on killing, it is hard to choose the number of the dead.

If you have a plan," hissed Sumael from the corner of her mouth, "now would be the time." "I have a plan," said Nothing. "Does it involve a sword?" asked Jaud. A pause. "All my plans do." "Do you have a sword?" Another. "No." "How will your plan work without one?" muttered Sumael. A third. "Death waits for us all.

The dead save me from the fucking young.' 'No getting away from 'em, sadly,' muttered Clover. 'The older you get, the more of 'em there are.

People love to see death. It reminds them that however mean, however low, however horrible their lives become . . . at least they have one.' Glokta