Quotes About Death

But this we may positively state, that nobody has made any progress in the school of Christ unless he cheerfully looks forward to the day of his death and to the day of the final resurrection.

Death is a solemn event for everyone. It is the winding up of all earthly plans & expectations. It is a separation from all we have loved and lived with. It is often accompanied by much bodily pain and distress. It opens the door to judgement and eternity - to heaven or to hell. It is an event after which there is no change, or space for repentance

She cried for herself, she cried because she was afraid that she herself might die in the night, because she was alone in the world, because her desperate and empty life was not an overture but an ending, and through it all she could see was the rough, brutal shape of a coffin.

Say maiden wilt thou go with meIn this strange death of life-to-beTo live in death and be the sameWithout this life or home or nameAt once to be and not to be

Till kicked and torn and beaten out he liesAnd leaves his hold and cackles, groans, and dies.

In crime and enmity they lie Who sin and tell us love can die, Who say to us in slander's breath That love belongs to sin and death.

Happy Birthday, Thomas Hayward. Unfortunately he's dead, he would have been 177 today. Only a year younger than me.

os infelizes jamais morrem, quando a morte seria o melhor remédio para seus males, e a vida das mulheres é proverbialmente dura.

I don't think," he said, "that a vicar is supposed to beat a bishop to death, or even back to death." Mr. Berkeley looked down upon the remains of Bishop Bernard. "If anyone asks, we'll say he fell over," he said. "Lots of times.

For a moment they still lived and I experienced their deaths as a fresh loss with each waking, so that I was unsure whether I was a man waking from a dream of death or a dreamer entering a world of loss, a man dreaming of unhappiness or a man waking to grief.

One lies in truth, One truth is lies. One path is death, One path is life. One question asked, The path to guide.

The beam caught the bowed head of Angel. He glanced up into Bobby Sciorra's eyes and smiled. Sciorra looked puzzled for a moment and then his mouth opened in slow-dawning realization. He was already turning to try to locate Louis when the darkness seemed to come alive around him and his eyes widened as he realized, too late, that death had come for him too.

But I feared more the death of others. I did not want to lose them, I worried about them while they were alive. Sometimes I think I concerned myself so much with the possibility of their loss that I never truly took pleasure in the fact of their existence.

People suffered all the time, and died badly. Many called on God to save them at the end, but if God heard their pleas, He chose not to answer. Maybe the pastor was wrong. Maybe God was imperfect, and men, by acting in their own interests, were reflecting only the reality of His nature.

That was what death was like: trapped in a small space with a big weight holding you down for all eternity.

Death does not come quickly for Babe. Death pilfers Babe piece by piece, pound by pound. But not before Babe conspires with Death in his own dissolution. Babe opens the door, and Death steps through.

So, how we doin'?" "Same as usual: dead people, a mystery, more dead people." "Who we lost?" "The boy. His guardians. Maybe Elliot Norton." "Shit, don't sound like we got anybody left. Anyone hires you better leave you your fee in their will.

One lies in truth, One's truth is lies. One path is death, One path is life. One question asked, The path to guide.

Sometimes he imagines himself peeling away Babe's integuments, excavating the seams, so that Babe becomes thinner and thinner, smaller and smaller, until at last all that remains is the shining core of the man, the radiance within. But Babe is immune from such exploration, and when disease finally pares away the layers of Babe, all that is left is death.

His eyes fixed on the boy. David saw them narrow, as if the bowman could not quite understand what was being said or what was happing to him as he knelt in the snow, his blood pooling around him. Then, slowly, they grew wide and calm as death gave him an explanation.

We all know that books burn—yet we have the greater knowledge that books cannot be killed by fire. People die, but books never die. . . . In this war, we know, books are weapons. —Franklin Delano Roosevelt (1882–1945)

Footsteps drew nearer, and with them the stink of Mors, potent even amid the gun smoke, the blood, and the smell of dying. She was its quintessence, the crux of it made manifest. It was in her name. She was Death itself.

He wouldn't be the first man to have died from dropping a lit joint.

Fear was the key. The Crooked Man had learned that, faced with death, most men would do anything to stay alive. They would weep, beg, kill, or betray another to save their own skins. If he could make David afraid of his life, then he would give the Crooked Man what he desired.