Quotes About Death

Love, my lads! And above all, love pretty, charming girls; they are the remedy for evil, they give a sweet smell to rottenness, they exchange life for death...Love, my lads!

Morrer! Todos nós havemos de morrer; basta estarmos vivos

I preferred to sleep, which is an interim way of dying.

Deixei-me estar a contemplar o cadáver, com alguma simpatia, confesso. Imaginei que ela saíra do mato, almoçada e feliz. A manhã era linda.

Estás morto. Gozaste e descansas; mas eis aqui os frutos podres da incontinência; e são teus próprios filhos que vão tragá-los.

Tudo nos parece melhor e mais belo, — fruto da nossa ilusão, — e alegres com vermos o ano que desponta, não reparamos que ele é também um passo para a morte.

My living lords, there is nothing so immeasurable as the disdain of the dead.

A vida é tão bela que a mesma ideia da morte precisa de vir primeiro a ela, antes de se ver cumprida.

Some died, others were born

O derradeiro homem, ao despedir-se do sol frio e gasto, há de ter um relógio na algibeira, para saber a hora exata em que morre

Não, Bentinho, disse ele, basta um alopata; em todas as escolas se morre. Demais, foram ideias da mocidade, que o tempo levou; converto-me à fé de meus pais. A alopatia é o catolicismo da medicina...

O anseio de escutar a verdade complicava-se em mim com o temor de a saber. Era a primeira vez que a morte me aparecia assim perto, me envolvia, me encarava com os olhos furados e escuros.

Contadas todas as horas de agonia do mundo, quantos séculos farão? Desses terão sido tenebrosos alguns, outros melancólicos, muitos desesperados, raros enfadonhos. Enfim, a morte chega, por muito que se demore, e arranca a pessoa ao pranto ou ao silêncio

The next minute is strong, joyful, it presumes to bring in eternity, and brings death, and perishes like the last one, but time subsists.

He died shortly afterwards, at my house, swearing and always repeating that pain was an illusion, and that Pangloss, the slandered Pangloss, was not as foolish as Voltaire supposed.

o bater da péndula fazia-me muito mal; esse tique-taque soturno, vagaroso e seco parecia dizer a cada golpe que eu ia ter um instante menos de vida. Imaginava então um velho diabo, sentado entre dois sacos, o da vida e o da morte, e a conta-las assim: - Outra de menos... - Outra de menos... - Outra de menos...

This wasn't the first time that I'd come close to death, but it was the first time I'd been involved in this part of it, this strange, terrible saying goodbye to someone you've loved.

We turn to stories and pictures and music because they show us who and what and why we are, and what our relationship is to life and death, what is essential, and what, despite the arbitrariness of falling beams, will not burn.

Lords of spirit, Lords of breath, Lords of fireflies, stars, and light, Who will keep the world from death? Who will stop the coming night? Blue eyes, blue eyes, have the sight.

Carrying my babies was a marvelous mystery, lives growing unseen except by the slow swelling of my belly. Death is an even greater mystery. ... The God I cry out to in anguish or joy can neither be proved nor disapproved. The hope I have that death is not the end of all our questions can neither be proved nor disproved.

We are a generation which is crying loudly to tear down all structure in order to find freedom, and discovering, when order is demolished, that instead of freedom we have death.

Adam thus bequeathed us his death, not his sin … We do not inherit the sins of our fathers, even though we may be made to endure their punishment. Guilt cannot be transmitted. We are linked to Adam only by his memory, which becomes our own, and by his death, which foreshadows our own. Not by his sin.

You know when you cut yourself really badly, it doesn't hurt for a while. You don't feel anything. Death- our reaction to death- is sort of like that. You don't feel anything at all. And then, later on, you begin to hurt.

Death is the most ordinary thing in the world, and so is birth. Someone is being born at this very moment. Someone is dying. Ordinary, and yet completely extraordinary. The marvel of having my babies is something I will never forget. The feeling of staggering uniqueness I had at the death of my father, the death of several close friends, was very different, but equally acute. Death may be an ordinary, everyday affair, but it is not a statistic. It is something that happens to people.