Quotes About Death

She said, "I'm not marrying anybody." When I asked her why she felt that way, she said she wanted to be free to die irresponsibly, without notice and for no reason.

It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that it purloined. Over

When the sun grew hot, they returned indoors where they continued to float through their lives like a pair of astronauts, defying gravity, limited only by the outer walls of their fuchsia spaceship with its pale pistachio doors. It isn't as though they didn't have plans. Anjum waited to die. Saddam waited to kill.

A bee died in a coffin flower.

In the last photograph of her, the bullet wound looked like a cheerful summer rose arranged just above her left ear. A few petals had fallen on her kaffan, the white shroud she was wrapped in before she was laid to rest.

It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life it purloined.

His rejection of her in life (gentle and compassionate though it was) was neutralized by death. In her memory of him, he embraced her. Just her. In the way a man embraces a woman.

She remembered reading somewhere that even after people died, their hair and nails kept growing. Like starlight, travelling through the universe long after the stars themselves had died. Like cities. Fizzy, effervescent, simulating the illusion of life while the planet they had plundered died around them.

It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that it purloined. Over the years, as the memory of Sophie Mol (the seeker of small wisdoms: Where do old birds go to die? Why don't dead ones fall like stones from the sky?

In remote border areas, near the Line of Control, the speed and regularity with which the bodies turned up, and the condition some of them were in, wasn't easy to cope with. Some were delivered in sacks, some in small polythene bags, just pieces of flesh, some hair and teeth. Notes pinned to them by the quartermasters of death said: 1kg, 27 kg, 500 g.

You're the Imam Sahib, not me. Where do old birds go to die? Do they fall on us like stones from the sky? Do we stumble on their bodies in the streets? Do you not think that the All-Seeing, Almighty One who put us on this Earth has made proper arrangements to take us away?

She was buried right next to her mother, Begum Arifa Yeswi. Mother and daughter died by the same bullet. It entered Miss Jebeen's head through her left temple and came to rest in her mother's heart. In the last photograph of her, the bullet wound looked like a cheerful summer rose arranged just above her left ear. A few petals had fallen on her kaffan, the white shroud she was wrapped in before she was laid to rest.

What I know for sure is only this: in our Kashmir the dead will live forever; and the living are only dead people, pretending.

Half an hour past midnight. Death came for him. And for the little family curled up and asleep on a blue cross-stitch counterpane? What came for them? Not death Just the end of living. (304)

più pura la morte, più salata la sventura, (...) più onesta e paurosa la terra.

I decided to brazen it out and ask about Musa, where he was, whether they were still together, whether they planned to get married. She said, "I'm not marrying anybody." When I asked her why she felt that way, she said she wanted to be free to die irresponsibly, without notice and for no reason.

It was hot in the church, and the white edges of the arum lilies crisped and curled. A bee died in a coffin flower.

They wore their anguish like armour, their anger slung across their bodies like ammunition belts. At that moment, perhaps because they were this armed, or because they had decided to embrace a life of death, or because they knew they were already dead, they became invincible.

It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that it purloined.

É curioso como às vezes a memória da morte vive por muito mais tempo que a memória da vida que ela roubou.

Io non sposerò nessuno mi rispose. Quando le chiesi perché, mi spiegò che voleva essere libera di morire in modo irresponsabile, senza preavviso e senza motivo.

Morire divenne semplicemente un altro modo di vivere.

The only dream worth having, I told her, is to dream that you will live while you're alive and die only when you're dead.

Father Mulligan's death did not alter the text of the entries in Baby Kochamma's diary, simply because as far as she was concerned it did not alter his availability. If anything, she possessed him in death in a way that she never had while he was alive. At least her memory of him was hers. Wholly hers. Savagely, fiercely, hers. Not to be shared with Faith, far less with competing co-nuns