Quotes About Death

What's really important for people, what really has dignity, is how they die. Compared to that, he thought, how you lived doesn't amount to much. Still, how you live determines how you die.

Life has gotten too much. I have no problem with dying as I am. I don't have the energy to go out and find a method to help me take my life. But quietly accepting death, that I can handle.

Exist? diverse moduri de a tr?i ÅŸi diferite feluri de a muri, dar nu asta conteaz?, ci faptul c? doar deÅŸertul r?mâne în urma noastr?, doar el supravieÅ£uieÅŸte.

If there had been a door within reach that led straight to death, he wouldn't have hesitated to push it open, without a second thought.

A person's last moments are an important thing. You can't choose how you're born, but you can choose how you die.

By living our lives, we nurture death.

Dying is the only way/ For you to float free: / Nomonhan

As he watched his father, Tengo started to have doubts about the difference between a person being alive and being dead. Maybe there really wasn't much of a difference to begin with, he though, maybe we just decided, for convenience's sake, to insist on a difference.

He was going to die soon, you knew when you saw those eyes. There was no sign of life in his flesh, just the barest traces of what had once been a life. His body was like a dilapidated old house from which all furniture and fixtures have been removed and which awaited now only its final demolition.

Perhaps he didn't commit suicide then because he couldn't conceive of a method that fit the pure and intense feelings he had toward death. But method was beside the point. If there had been a door within reach that led straight to death, he wouldn't have hesitated to push it open, without a second thought, as if it were just a part of ordinary life. For better or for worse, though, there was no such door nearby.

But there's such a thing as a way of living that's guided by the way a person's going to die.

Langston, don't you know how Alice died? Where have you been? What goes on with you that you are so completely free of anyone else's story? My God.

These days, there are angry ghosts all around us, dead from wars, sickness, starvation--and nobody cares. So you say you're under a curse? Well, so what? So's the whole damned world.

People don't gather after a death to mourn, but rather to reaffirm why life matters and to remember to exult in the only one we'll ever have. We hold funerals, memorials, celebrations—whatever you want to call them—to seek and to find the heart of the matter of this trip we call Life.

the world could end in any number of ways, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. The only choice any of us has is what to do if we're still here after it happens. Do we die a little death every day ourselves or do we reach for someone's hand and dance again?

We confused the indoors with intimacy and electric heating with connection. Every night seemed like the last night because we would all freeze to death shortly.

As soon as I looked at Alphonse's face, I knew that he was dead. I had the strange feeling that I was dead myself. It felt as if I were lying at the bottom of a grave and earth was being thrown on me. When death takes someone you know, he holds you and whispers all his secrets in your ear.

Well, my darling, you can be lazy when you're lying in your coffin. -Rose

But the life of Spirit is not the life that shrinks from death and keeps itself untouched by devastation, but rather the life that endures it and maintains itself in it. It wins its truth only when, in utter dismemberment, it finds itself.... Spirit is this power only by looking the negative in the face, and tarrying with it. This tarrying with the negative is the magical power that converts it into being. This power is identical with what we earlier called the Subject.

Every consciousness pursues the death of the other.

At the moment of death we will not be judged according to the number of good deeds we have done or by the diplomas we have received in our lifetime. We will be judged according to the love we have put into our work.1 —MOTHER TERESA

Lieb Liebchen, leg 's Händchen aufs Herze mein; - Ach, hörst du, wie's pochet im Kämmerlein, Da hauset ein Zimmermann schlimm und arg, Der zimmert mir einen Totensarg. Es hämmert und klopfet bei Tag und bei Nacht; Es hat mich schon längst um den Schlaf gebracht. Ach! sputet Euch, Meister Zimmermann, Damit ich balde schlafen kann.

Sie liebten sich beide, doch keiner Wollt es dem andern gestehn; Sie sahen sich an so feindlich, Und wollten vor Liebe vergehn. Sie trennten sich endlich und sahn sich Nur noch zuweilen im Traum; Sie waren längst gestorben, Und wußten es selber kaum.

Der Tod, der trennet nicht, der Tod vereinigt, Das Leben ist's, was uns gewaltsam trennt.