Quotes About Death

Death be not proud, though some have called theeMighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

Oh do not die, for I shall hateAll women so, when thou art gone.

Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.

Perchance, he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him...

Never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.

Death, thou shalt die.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so.

TIS the year's midnight, and it is the day's, Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ; The sun is spent, and now his flasks Send forth light squibs, no constant rays ; The world's whole sap is sunk ; The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk, Whither, as to the bed's-feet, life is shrunk, Dead and interr'd ; yet all these seem to laugh, Compared with me, who am their epitaph.

On a huge hill, Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and hee that will Reach her, about must, and about must goe; And what the hills suddenness resists, winne so; Yet strive so, that before age, deaths twilight, Thy Soule rest, for none can worke in that night.

That our affections kill us not, nor dye.

I long to talk with some old lover's ghost Who died before the god of Love was born.

when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again, for that library where every book shall lie open to one another;

My world's both parts, and 'o! Both parts must die.

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, and death shall be no more, death thou shalt die.

I would not that death should take me asleep. I would not have him meerly seise me, and only declare me to be dead, but win me, and overcome me. When I must shipwrack, I would do it in a Sea, where mine impotencie might have some excuse; not in a sullen weedy lake, where I could not have so much as exercise for my swimming.

Since thou and I sigh one another's breath, Whoe'er sighs most is cruellest, and hastes the other's death.

Yet though these ways be lost, thou hast left one, Which is, immoderate grief that she is gone. But we may 'scape that sin, yet weep as much; Our tears are due because we are not such. Some tears, that knot of friends, her death must cost, Because the chain is broke, but no link lost.

Death be not proud, though some have called theeMighty and dreadfull, for thou art not so,For, those, whom thou thinkst, thou dost overthrow, die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

Dead men tell no tales.

The trumpet shall be heard on highThe dead shall live, the living die,And Music shall untune the sky!

So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky

As it is my eager expectation and hope that I will not be at all ashamed, but that with full courage now as always Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. (Phil. 1:20–21)

His death nearly occurred at the microphone: on a People's Platform discussion of Hitlerism, Jan. 23, 1943, he collapsed in the studio while the program continued uninterrupted. Woollcott died about four hours later, a victim of a heart attack that developed into a cerebral hemorrhage

The most notable prizewinner on This Is My Story was 13–year-old Louise Applewhite, who appealed to President Roosevelt because the hospitals in her hometown were so packed with polio victims that she could not get proper treatment. Roosevelt sent a B-17 and a medical crew at once to fetch her to his Warm Springs Foundation. This show was replayed on the series in April 1945, the Saturday after Roosevelt's death.