Quotes About Death

If you know not how to die, never trouble yourself; Nature will in a moment fully and sufficiently instruct you; she will exactly do that business for you; take you no care for it.

Si los hombres supiesen lo que es la muerte ya no le tendrían miedo. y si ya no le tuvieran miedo, nadie podría robarles, nunca más, su tiempo de vida.

Wenn die Menschen wüssten, was der Tod ist, dann hätten sie keine Angst mehr vor ihm.

The professor smiled. "If people knew the nature of death," he said after a moment's silence, "they'd cease to be afraid of it. And if they ceased to be afraid of it, no one could rob them of their time any more.

Neden yüzleri kül gibi soÄŸuk? Varl?klar?n? ölü ÅŸeylerden kazand?klar? için. Biliyorsun, onlar varl?klar?n?, insanlar?n ömrünü tüketerek sürdürüyorlar. Fakat zaman, gerçek sahiplerinden al?n?nca ölüyor. Her insan?n kendisine ait belli bir zaman? vard?r. Ve bu zaman da yaln?zca onda kald?kça canl?d?r, yaÅŸar.

Wenn die Menschen wüssten, was der Tod ist, dann hätten sie keine Angst mehr vor ihm. Und wenn sie keine Angst mehr hätten, könnte keiner ihnen ihre Lebenszeit stehlen.

Yes, she thought about death because she had discovered something else as well: there are certain treasures that kill you if you can't share them with others.

When a population is distracted by trivia," wrote Postman in Amusing Ourselves to Death, "when cultural life is redefined as a perpetual round of entertainments, when serious public conversation becomes a form of baby talk, when, in short, a people become an audience and their public business a vaudeville act, then a nation finds itself at risk. Culture death is a real possibility.

Some questions remain long after their owners have died. Lingering like ghosts. Looking for the answers they never found in life.

Isn't it rather terrible that what brings the pricking behind my eyelids is not old Eddy's death, or even the thought of human mortality in general, but certain strokes of rhetoric – certain alliterations, repetitions, and verbal sonorities which don't hold any literal meaning for me? I'm more moved by literature than by what it describes!

I remember the tale of the rabbi to whom a dead man came with a problem: he believed that he was alive. Don't you know, the rabbi told him, that you are no longer among the living? You are in the Land of Confusion. On hearing the story, the rabbi's son worried that he too was in the Land of Confusion. Once you know that there exists such a world, you cannot be in it, explained the father. (208)

Yes, well, irony is no protection when you can feel the breeze from his scythe on your skin and hear the rustle of his wings.

Death does not triumph, Life does.

Officially, the complexion of the problem had changed (too many people were getting killed, for one thing), and the romance of spooking started to fall away like dead meat from a bone. As sure as heat rises, their time was over.

In fact this bad baronet died true to the conditions of his kind--mysteriously in his library, at midnight, while a great deal of snow was falling.

Timor mortis conturbat me

Why was it still possible, in 2006, to say something original and important about the events of 1918? Why had it taken nearly a century to see a simple truth about the single most deadly pandemic in human history? Only after three amateur historians studied the various interventions, and the various death tolls in individual American cities, did the importance of timing became obvious.

Cities that intervened immediately after the arrival of the virus experienced far less disease and death.

The book, truth be told, left the reader feeling that there was little that might have been done to prevent all those people from dying.

For realists, war is like surgery-a painful and dangerous activity that is sometimes necessary ... A pacifist is like a Christian Scientist who is against surgery even when the alternative is the crippling or death of the patient.

In the months of her slow death, she'd made little notes in a book, jotted down memories of her early life, as if gathering fallen leaves to her chest, to stop them from being scattered and lost by the coming winds.

Look down fair moon and bathe this scene, Pour softly down night's nimbus floods on faces ghastly, swollen, purple, On the dead on their backs with arms toss'd wide, Pour down your unstinted nimbus sacred moon. —Walt Whitman Sequel to Drum-Taps

It's bad when the dead talk in dreams," said Odessa.

I'm not scared of dying. I'm scared of living on and on.