Quotes About Death

Disease generally begins that equality which death completes.

None but the dead have free speech.

If someone sent you a suicide note," Gertrude said. "You'd correct the spelling and send it back to them." "They'd at least die grammatically," said Alice.

But Lord! how everybody's looks, and discourse in the street, is of death, and nothing else; and few people going up and down, that the town is like a place distressed and forsaken.

neighbour of ours, Mr. Hollworthy, a very able man, is also dead by a fall in the country from his horse, his foot hanging in the stirrup, and his brains beat out.

He showed me a black boy that he had, that died of a consumption, and being dead, he caused him to be dried in an oven, and lies there entire in a box.

All life is a rhythm," she said as I sat up. "All death is a rhythm suspended, a syncopation before life resumes.

I was born," the Mouse said. "I must die. I am suffering. Help me. There, I just wrote your book for you.

All life is a rhythm," she said as I sat up. "All death is a rhythm suspended, a syncopation before life resumes." She picked up my machete. "Play something." She held the handle out. "Make music.

next half dozen papers went from July 14, 2022, to July 7, 1837 (Headline: ONLY ONE HUNDRED YEARS TILL THE DEATH OF HARLOW!)

And what after all, is death?? 'Tis but a cessation from mortal life; 'tis but the finishing of an appointed course; the refreshing inn after a fatiguing journey; the end of a life of cares and troubles; and, if happy, the beginning of a life of immortal happiness.

Two years, I've been working towards this, and on the last day, Blondie has me doubting the whole thing. We'll leave it up to fate then, shall we, Wolfy? A duel to the death. May the best man win. I cut him down, and that's that. Back to our regularly scheduled international incident. But if he beats me... if I die here... the lock on my blade will disable after a couple hours. What happens after that... is up to you, Wolfy. [Sam to Blade Wolf]

He cutteth off your love to the creature, that ye might learn that God only is the right owner of your love, sorrow, loss, sadness, death or the worst things that are, except sin:

When I look over beyond the line and beyond death, to the laughing side of the world, I triumph, and ride upon the high places of Jacob: howbeit, otherways I am a faint, deadhearted, cowardly man, oft borne down and hungry in waiting for the marriage supper of the Lamb. Nevertheless, I think it the Lord's wise love that feeds us with hunger, and makes us fat with wants and desertion.

It ain't easy to do nothing, now that society is telling everyone that their body is fundamentally flawed and about to self-destruct. People are afraid they're on the verge of death all the time

We were putting into these gomers our fear of death, but who knew if they feared death? Perhaps they welcomed death like a dear long-lost cousin, grown old but still known, coming to visit, relieving the loneliness, the failing of the senses, the fury of the half-blind looking into the mirror and not recognizing who is looking back, a dear friend, a dear reliever, a healer who would be with them for an eternity, the same eternity as the long ago, before birth.

Sometimes, drunk, I ruminate on the state of my liver, and think of all the cirrhotics I have watched turn yellow and die. They either bleed out, raving, coughing up and drowning in blood from ruptured esophageal veins, or, in coma, they slip away, slip blissfully away down the yellow-brick ammonia-scented road to oblivion.

Swans sing before they die - 'twere no bad thing should certain persons die before they sing.

Beneath this sodA poet lies, or that which once seemed he—Oh, lift a thought in prayer for S.T.C.!That he, who many a year, with toil of breath,Found death in life, may here find life in death.

Her lips were red, her looks were free,Her locks were yellow as gold:Her skin was white as leprosy,The nightmare Life-in-Death was she,Who thicks man's blood with cold.

About, about, in reel and routThe death fires danced at night.

Swans sing before they die -- t'were no bad thing did certain persons die before they sing.

Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was white as leprosy, The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold.

The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I.