Quotes About Death

Salimos al cosmos preparados para todo, es decir: para la soledad, la lucha, el martirio y la muerte. La modestia nos impide decirlo en vos alta, pero a veces pensamos, de nosotros mismos, que somos maravillosos - Solaris

The most terrifying fact about the universe is not that it is hostile but that it is indifferent... if we come to terms with this indifference and accept the challenges of life within the boundaries of death -- however mutable man may be able to make them -- our existence as a species can have genuine meaning and fulfillment. However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light.

An initiation is a symbolic death and rebirth, a rite of passage that transforms each person who experiences it.

And so we learn the Mystery: the feared Shadow, the Guardian of the Threshold, is none other than the God, who is named Guardian of the Gates, in his aspect of Death.

Was there some deeper, level some plane upon which the consciousness of mountains responded to death and waste and pain? Was there a compassion embedded in the very rocks, so that they offered their beauty in compensation for human loss?

Gratis?» ha detto la mamma. È l'unica parola al mondo a cui non sa resistere. Da anni le teniamo nascosto che si muore gratis, perché sarebbe capace di suicidarsi all'istante.

Voglio dormire fino alla morte, magari di qualcun altro

L'unico modo per non temere la morte è non pensarla e non crederle. Voltarle le spalle, anche se lei è ovunque, e non puoi voltare le spalle a ciò che è ovunque. Puoi voltare le spalle al deserto? Uno dei misteri della morte è proprio questa nostra follia: tentare di non temerla.

Vorrei morire, morire, morire, ma lo fanno già tutti.

On average, 20 percent of the Africans carried into the Atlantic in the seventeenth century died at sea, and 40 percent of cargoes experienced mortality levels above that benchmark.

Mortality on the Atlantic produced a crisis of enormous proportions, as Africans labored under the cumulative weight of these deaths that remained unresolved. . . . Entrapped, Africans confronted a dual crisis: the trauma of death, and the inability to respond appropriately to death. This indirect violence, arguably, was the most abject experience of the captives' Atlantic crossing.

It's so hard to explain what the dead really want. Not to be alive again, heavens no, never that: a passenger buckled into that depreciating vehicle of the body, that cramped one-seater with its structural flaws and piss-poor mileage, its failures and betrayals, its worn, nonfunctioning, irreplaceable parts.

By meditating on death, we paradoxically become conscious of life.

one can either believe in rebirth or not believe in it. But there is a third alternative: that of agnosticism—to acknowledge in all honesty that one does not know. One does not have either to assert it or to deny it; one neither has to adopt the literal versions presented by tradition nor fall into the other extreme of believing that death is a final annihilatio? This, I feel, could provide a good Buddhist middle way for approaching the issue today.

When we stop fleeing birth and death, the grip of anguish is loosened and existence reveals itself as a question.

Places to which I am instinctively attracted are places where I imagine suffering to be absent. "There," I think, "if only I could get there, then I would suffer no more." The groundless ground of contingency, however, holds out no such hope. For this is the ground where you are born and die, get sick and grow old, are disappointed and frustrated. To

The Earth gave you life, gave you food and language and intelligence, and will take you back when you die.

To the Navi, Eywa is their mother goddess - and, in a sense their heaven. She takes them into herself when they die.

He said that it was a very bad accident, and my Aunt Helen was definitely killed instantly. In other words, there was no pain. There was no pain anymore.

And to everyone at Susanna Lea's agency for their role in making this whole histoire possible. 'The English, by nature, always want to fight their neighbours for no reason, which is why they all die badly.' From the Journal d'un Bourgeois de Paris, written during the Hundred Years War

Internet users, that blue screen of death you were looking at this morning? That's the sky. If you're still confused, look it up on Wikipedia tomorrow.

And it was as if fate had betrayed the soldier. In death it exposed to his enemies that poverty which in life he had perhaps concealed from his friends.

Once he thought he had concluded that it would be better to get killed directly and end his troubles. Regarding death thus out of the corner of his eye, he conceived it to be nothing but rest, and he was filled with a momentary astonishment that he should have made an extraordinary commotion over the mere matter of getting killed.

These men were born to drill and die.             Point for them the virtue of the slaughter,             Make plain to them the excellence of killing             And a field where a thousand corpses lie.