Quotes About Death

living things don't last—it's all temporary. Death in life. That's why they're called natures mortes. Maybe you don't see it at first with all the beauty and bloom, the little speck of rot. But if you look closer—there it is.

Death is the mother of beauty, said Henry. And what is beauty? Terror. Well said, said Julian. Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.

My love was muddied-up below the waterline with my mother, with my mother's death, with losing my mother and not being able to get her back. All that blind, infantile hunger to save and be saved, to repeat the past and make it different, had somehow attached itself, ravenously, to her. There was an instability in it, a sickness.

He seemed to be talking partly to himself. "That's what he would have wanted. The parting gilmore, the death haikus—he wouldn't have liked to leave without stopping to speak someone along the way. 'A tea house amid the cherry blossoms, on the way to death.

No reconocimos la gravedad de nuestra situación hasta varias semanas después, cuando la nieve de las montañas ya se estaba fundiendo. Bunny llevaba diez días muerto cuando lo encontraron.

A goodbye at the gate," said Hobie. He seemed to be talking partly to himself. "That's what he would have wanted. The parting glimpse, the death haiku—he wouldn't have liked to leave without stopping to speak to someone along the way. 'A teahouse amid the cherry blossoms, on the way to death.

The minister, who took his ecumenical and—some felt—slightly impersonal remarks from Saint Paul's sermon on Love from First Corinthians, talked for about half an hour. ("Didn't you feel that was a very inappropriate text?" said Julian, who had a pagan's gloomy view of death coupled with a horror of the non-specific.)

That's what he would have wanted. The parting glimpse, the death haiku—he wouldn't have liked to leave without stopping to speak to someone along the way. 'A teahouse amid the cherry blossoms, on the way to death.

Death is the mother of Beauty. And what is Beauty? Terror.

Nowhere, ever, have the hideous mechanics of birth and copulation and death—those monstrous upheavals of life that the Greeks call miasma, defilement—been so brutal or been painted up to look so pretty; have so many people put so much faith in lies and mutability and death death death.

At the silence, my heart went cold. Dead flowers stood rotting in the massive Chinese vases and a shut-up heaviness overweighed the room: the air almost too stale to breathe...It was a stillness I knew; this was a house closed in on itself when someone had died.

I feel I should say it as urgently as if I were standing in the room with you. That life – whatever else it is – is short. That fate is cruel but maybe not random. That Nature (meaning Death) always wins but that doesn't mean we have to bow and grovel to it. That maybe even if we're not always so glad to be here, it's our task to immerse ourselves anyway:

A goodbye at the gate," said Hobie. He seemed to be talking partly to himself. "That's what he would have wanted. The parting glimpse, the death haiku—he wouldn't have liked to leave without stopping to speak to someone along the way. 'A teahouse amid the cherry blossoms, on the way to death.' " He

Death is the mother of beauty And what is beauty? Terror Well said. Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary, genuine beauty is always quite alarming

I want to sleep," he said, with a melodramatic roll of his eye, " Ã¢â'¬Ëœdormir plutôt que vivre'!" " Ã¢â'¬ËœDans un sommeil aussi doux que la mort …' Ã¢â'¬Â said Henry with a smile.

Fate is cruel but maybe not random. Nature (meaning Death) always wins but that doesn't mean we have to bow and gravel to it.

The only question now," he said, "is which corpse gets the most flowers.

Survey after survey reflected a widespread conviction that extremism was the cause of Kennedy's death. It was to this sentiment that Johnson spoke in his peroration: "Let us put an end to the teaching and the preaching of hate and evil and violence. Let us turn away from the fanatics of the far left and the far right, from the apostles of bitterness and bigotry, from those defiant of law and those who pour venom into our nation's bloodstream.

Death had brushed hard against him

Kennedy's death had unexpectedly brought fulfillment of his greatest ambition in circumstances that must have inspired awesome guilt and doubts.

On Good Friday, April 14, 1865, Abraham Lincoln rose with great and unaccustomed cheer to greet the final day of his life.

Nostalgia for what? I don't know. Because I'd rather die than have to live through any of that again. And the 'Anna' of that time is like an enemy, or like an old friend one has known too well and doesn't want to see.

It was death Aunt Ruth was thinking about all the time. Death was the reason she had talked so much, so intently, death was the fire burning her up. With every breath and laugh and wiped-away tear, she had been dying.

I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks while you loved me.