Quotes About Death

They lost their pride And died as men before their bodies died.

If love killed, let it kill him now. Maybe they would be reunited in death.

Life is not worth living for which a man is not prepared to die at any moment.

Is dirt nice? Is death nice? Above all is dying nice? And, in the end, we must ask, is God nice? I doubt it.

This was incredibly foolish. To live just to die. And to die so easily.

Something always dies when the lion feeds – and yet there is meat for those that follow him.

If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodCome gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cudOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—My friend, you would not tell with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory,The old Lie: Dulce et decorum estPro patria mori.

What passing bells for these who die as cattleOnly the monstrous anger of the guns.Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattleCan patter out their hasty orisons.

Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead.

The old Lie:Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

Oh, Death was never enemy of ours! We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum. No soldier's paid to kick against His powers. We laughed, — knowing that better men would come, And greater wars: when each proud fighter brags He wars on Death, for lives; not men, for flags.

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory That old lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

But the old man would not so, but slew his son, And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

Life is a play acted by dying men, Where, if its heroes seem to foot it well And go light-tongued without grimace of pain, Death will be found anon. And who shall tell Which part was saddest, or in youth or age, When the tired actor stops and leaves the stage?

Bazen bana aniden bask?n yapan a??r? duyarl?l?ktan öldü?ümü hayal ediyorum. O zaman bir acil doktor ko?up gelir, yapabilece?i tek ?ey öldü?ümü tespit etmek olurdu. Ölüm sebebi olarak da ?unu yazard? ölüm raporuna: A??r? duyarl?l?k.

Senin büyük bir gereksinme duydu?un ?eyi onun buldu?unu kabul etmektense, çok ama pek çok kanserli hastan?n ölümünü görmeyi ye?leyeceksin. Sana göre meslek onurun ya da bankadaki hesab?n ya da radyum sanayisi ile olan ili?kin, hakikatten ve ö?renmekten çok daha önemlidir. ??te bu yüzden çok küçük ve sefilsin, küçük adam.

I must be dead for there is nothing but blue snow and the furious silence of a gunshot.

Queen Elizabeth was rather a flirt all her life. She finally developed a bad habit of boxing her partners' ears and shouting "god's death, I'll have thy head!" This discouraged some of her more sensitive partners

Even in countries that have been targets of intensive terror campaigns, such as Israel, the weekly number of casualties almost never came close to the number of traffic deaths.

The evidence of priming studies suggests that reminding people of their mortality increases the appeal of authoritarian ideas, which may become reassuring in the context of the terror of death. Other

The lesson is clear: estimates of causes of death are warped by media coverage. The coverage is itself biased toward novelty and poignancy. The media do not just shape what the public is interested

Signore e signori, che cos'è la morte? In realtà non solo l'estinzione dell'individuo o gli attimi del trapasso, ma già il lungo declino che la precede, quel rilassamento che si dilata negli anni; il periodo in cui un uomo c'è ancora, ma allo stesso tempo non c'è più e in cui, anche se la sua statura è ormai andata a farsi benedire, può ancora dare a intendere di esistere. Signore e signori, è questo il modo sopraffino con cui la natura ha regolato la nostra morte!

Riflessi di uccelli continuavano a spalmarsi sull'acqua, anche quando il cielo era vuoto. Un prodigioso fenomeno ottico, disse Humboldt. L'ottica non c'entra niente, disse Mario. Gli uccelli morivano continuamente, in ogni momento, in realtà non facevano quasi nient'altro. I loro spiriti sopravvivevano nei loro riflessi. Da qualche parte dovevano pur andare, giacché in cielo erano indesiderati. E gli insetti?, chiese Bonpland. Quelli non muoiono mai. E proprio lì stava il problema.

Ma quei morti erano così vecchi che non li si poteva chiamare nemmeno cadaveri. Tutto il mondo in definitiva è composto di corpi morti! Ogni manciata di terra è stata un uomo e prima ancora un altro uomo, ogni oncia d'aria è stata respirata migliaia di volte da esseri nel frattempo morti. Cosa avevano tutti, qual era il problema?