Quotes About Death

Si hubiera podido ver arrodillada a la ladrona de libros junto a su cuerpo diezmado, habría gritado de alegría y girado sobre sí mismo y sonreído. Le habría encantado contemplarla besándole los polvorientos labios devastados por las bombas. Sí, lo sé. En la profunda oscuridad de mi corazón de siniestros latidos, lo sé. Le habría gustado, sin duda. ¿Lo ves? Hasta la muerte tiene corazón.

The fire was nothing now but a funeral of smoke, dead and dying, simultaneously.

There is death. Making his way through all of it. On the surface: unflappable, unwavering. Below: unnerved, untied, and undone.

First the colors. Then the humans. That's usually how I see things. Or at least, how I try. ***HERE IS A SMALL FACT*** You are going to die.

They say that war is death's best friend, but I must offer you a different point of view on that one. To me, war is like the new boss who expects the impossible. He stands over your shoulder repeating one thing, incessantly: "Get it done, get it done." So you work harder. You get the job done. The boss, however, does not thank you. He asks for more. Often

If nothing else, they died fast and they were warm. The boy from the plane, I thought. The one with the teddy bear. Where was Rudy's confort? Where was someone to alleviate this robbery of his life? Who was there to soothe him as life's rug was snatched from under his sleeping feet?

As palavras pousaram na mesa e se posicionaram no meio. As três pessoas ficaram a olhá-las. As tênues esperanças não ousaram elevar-se mais do que isso. Ele ainda não morreu. Ele ainda não morreu.

Max, Hans, and Rosa I cannot account for, but I know that Liesel Meminger was thinking that if the bombs ever landed on Himmel Street, not only did Max have less chance of survival than everyone else, but he would die completely alone.

When death captures me," the boy vowed, "he will feel my fist on his face.

And it would show me, once again, that one opportunity leads directly to another, just as risk leads to more risk, life to more life, and death to more death.

The last thing I wanted was to look down at the stranded face of my teenager. A pretty girl. Her whole death was now ahead of her.

Still in disbelief, she started to dig. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be dead. He couldnt- Within seconds, snow was carved into her skin. Frozen blood was cracked across her hands. Somewhere in all the snow, she could see her broken heart, in two pieces. Each half was glowing, and beating under all that white.

She leaned down and looked at his lifeless face and Liesel kissed her best friend Rudy Steiner soft and true on his lips. He tasted dusty and sweet. He tasted like regret in the shadows of trees and in the glow of the anarchist's suit collection.

I'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both. Still, they have one thing I envy. Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.

They say that war is death's best friend, but I must offer you a different point of view on that one. To me, war is like the new boss who expects the impossible.

Un pequeño detalle: Morirás.

I am all bluster— I am not violent. I am not malicious. I am a result. -Death

By the way—I like this human idea of the grim reaper. I like the scythe. It amuses me.)

When death captures me," the boy vowed, "he will feel my fist on his face." Personally

She leaned down and looked at his lifeless face and Liesel kissed her best friend, Rudy Steiner, soft and true on his lips. He tasted dusty and sweet. H tasted like regret in the shadows of trees and in the glow of the anarchist's suit collection. She kissed him long and soft, and when she pulled herself away, her lips were fleshy, and she leaned in once more, this time losing control and misjudging it. Their teeth collided on the demolished world of Himmel Street.

Years ago, when they'd raced on a muddy field, Rudy was a hastily assembled set of bones, with a jagged, rocky smile. In the trees this afternoon, he was a giver of bread and teddy bears. He was a triple Hitler Youth athletics champion. He was her best friend. And he was a month away from his death. Of course I told him about you, Liesel said. She was saying goodbye and she didnt't even know it.

In truth, I think he was afraid. Rudy Steiner was scared of the book thief's kiss. He must have longed for it so much. He must have loved her so incredibly hard. So hard that he would never ask for her lips again and would go to his grave without them.

They keep triggering inside me. They harass my memory. I see them tall in their heaps, all mounted on top of each other. There is air like plastic, a horizon like setting glue. There are skies manufactured by people, punctured and leaking, and there are soft, coal-colored clouds, beating like black hearts. And then. There is death. Making his way through all of it. On the surface: unflappable, unwavering. Below: unnerved, untied, and undone.

Please believe me when I tell you that I picked up each soul that day as if it were newly born. I even kissed a few weary, poisoned cheeks. I listened to their last, gasping cries. Their French words. I watched their love-visions and freed them from their fear.