Quotes About Death

The wet earth. I did not imagine your death would reconcile me with language, did not imagine soil clinging to the page, black type like birds on a stone sky. That your soul – yes, I use that word – beautiful, could saturate the bitterness from even that fate, not of love but its opposite, all concealed in a reversal of longing.

The intellectual is constantly betrayed by his vanity. Godlike he blandly assumes that he can express everything in words whereas the things one loves, lives, and dies for are not, in the last analysis completely expressible in words.

Death was pain and sickness, and terror of the long, blind, last step.

Occasionally, on the battlefield where death was a reality, she had won. But once back in England, making such arguments was like trying to write in the sand; the weight and complexities of the hierarchy of power erased her efforts like an incoming tide.

It was his own soul he was exploring, the one territory from which there was no escape, the one enemy which must always be faced, sooner or later, more certain than anything else in life or death.

He had usually found children much less affected by death than adults. And it was a rare child indeed that was not inveterately inquisitive, and would have extracted from the servants every last detail that was to be had, or even invented and embroidered upon.

That was the worst truth of all: alone. The word was a kind of death.

To be without purpose is the same as being dead, only less peaceful.

I'm Gentleman Death in silk and lace, come to put out the candles. The canker in the heart of the rose.

Do you know what it means to be loved by Death?... Do you know what it means to have Death know your name?

Merciful death. How you love your precious guilt

I lived like a man who wanted to die but who had no courage to do it himself.

It's so easy to wish for death when nothing's wrong with you! It's so easy to fall in love with death, and I've been all my life, and seen it's most faithful worshippers crumble in the end, screaming just to live, as if all the dark veils and the lillies and the smell of candles, and grandiose promises of the grave meant nothing. I knew that. But I always wished I was dead. It was a way to go on living

The earth here is beautiful. And it still belongs to the dead.

Suppose death had a heart to love and to release you, to whom would he turn this passion, would you chose a person from the crowd there. A person to suffer as you suffer.

My conscience is killing me, isn't it? And when you're immortal that can be a really long and ignominious death

Who knew that better than I, who had presided over the death of my own body, seeing all I called human wither and die only to form an unbreakable chain which held me fast to this world yet made me forever its exile, a specter with a beating heart?

You see,' [Armand] said, 'killing other vampires is very exciting; that is why it is forbidden under penalty of death.

You never know the palette of the one you kill until the mind disgorges its finest colours.

I never laugh at death, no matter how often and regularly I am the cause of it.

We're going to die and not even know. We'll never know, and all this meaninglessness will just go on and on and on. And we won't any longer be witnesses to it. We won't have even that little bit of power to give meaning to it in our minds. We'll just be gone, dead, dead, dead, without ever knowing!

it was a brave man's fear. I knew what he meant. What must a brave general feel when he knows the battle has gone against him and nothing remains but death?

Handsome enough' is this Grim Reaper, Who can snuff all these 'brief candles,' every fluttering soul sucking the air, from this hall.

He imagined his past gone, along with his future. Death was the understanding of the immediate present: that there is finally nothing else.