Quotes About Death

A summer calm laid its soothing hand over everything, like death.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again.

morrer é uma arte, como tudo o mais. nisso sou excepcional. desse jeito faço parecer infernal. desse jeito faço parecer real. vão dizer que tenho vocação

She had just smiled and said what a merciful thing it was for him he had died, because if he had lived he would have been crippled and an invalid for life, and he couldn't have stood that, he would rather have died than had that happen.

It was like the first time I saw a cadaver. For weeks afterward, the cadaver's head--or what there was left of it--floated up behind my eggs and bacon at breakfast... and pretty soon I felt as though I were carrying that cadaver's head around with me on a string, like some black, noseless balloon stinking of vinegar.

This black boot has no mercy for anybody. Why should it, it is the hearse of a dead foot

They thought death was worth it, but I Have a self to recover, a queen. Is she dead, is she sleeping? Where has she been, With her lion-red body, her wings of glass? Now she is flying More terrible than she ever was, red Scar in the sky, red comet Over the engine that killed her- The mausoleum, the wax house.

I remembered a worrisome course in the Victorian novel where woman after woman died, palely and nobly, in torrents of blood, after a difficult childbirth.

Then I knew what the trouble was - I needed experience. How could I write about life when I'd never had a love affair or a baby or seen anybody die?

The stony actors poise and pause for breath. I brought my love to bear, and then you died. It was the gangrene ate you to the bone My mother said; you died like any man. How shall I age into that state of mind? I am the ghost of an infamous suicide, My own blue razor rusting in my throat. O pardon the one who knocks for pardon at Your gate, father—your hound-bitch, daughter, friend. It was my love that did us both to death.

So you will rot in the ground, and so you say, what the hell? Who cares? But you care, and somehow you don't want to live just one life.

Habría un hoyo negro de seis pies de profundidad en el duro suelo. Esa sombra se uniría con esta sombra, y el peculiar suelo amarillento de nuestra localidad sellaría la herida en la blancura, y otra nevada borraría la novedad en la tumba de Joan

Le dije que creía en el infierno, y que ciertas personas, como yo, tenían que vivir en el infierno antes de morir, para compensarlo por perderlo después de la muerte, ya que no creían en la vida después de la muerte, y qué cada persona creyó que eso es lo que le pasaba cuando moría.

Approaching his cottage By crooked detour, He hears the gruff knocking Of the wolf at the door. His wife and his children Hang riddled with shot, There's a hex on the cradle And death in the pot.

He hymns the rotten queen with saffron hair Who has saltier aphrodisiacs Than virgins' tears. That bawdy queen of death, Her wormy couriers are at his bones. Still he hymns juice of her, hot nectarine.

Io sono il presente, ma so che anch'io me ne andrò. L'instante sublime, la fiamma che consuma arriva e subito scompare: sabbie mobili, semore. E io non voglio morire.

die letzte brücke.

Only let down the veil, the veil, the veil. If it were death I would admire the deep gravity of it, its timeless eyes. I would know you were serious. There would be a nobility then, there would be a birthday. And the knife not carve, but enter Pure and clean as the cry of a baby, And the universe slide from my side. 30 September 1962

I don't believe there is a life after death in the literal sense. I don't believe my individual ego or spirit is unique and important enough to wake up after burial and soar to bliss and pink clouds in heaven. If we leave the body behind as we must, we are nothing.

the razor slitting the stomach, and the life throbbing away, red flood by red flood - I lay crouched, kneeling on the khaki quilt on the living room floor where there was air

DEATH IS ONE OF THE MOST MOVING & TROUBLING EXPERIENCES OF LIFE: DEATH-IN-LIFE IS ONE OF THE MOST TERRIBLE STATES OF EXISTENCE: NEUTRALITY, BOREDOM become worse sins than murder, worse than illicit love affairs: BE RIGHT OR WRONG, don't be indifferent, don't be NOTHING . . . MANY POETS, MANY READERS live by poetry as people have lived by religion: BOTH ARE RITUALS, PATTERNS, [that give] special meaning to the most profound experiences of human life.

And then there are the many many times I have given myself to that fury and that death which is loving you, and I am, to my own knifing hurt, more faithful than is kind to my peace and my wholeness. I live in two worlds and as long as we are apart, I always shall.

The only quiet woman is a dead one

Among petals pale as death And leaves steadfast in shape They sleep on, mouth to mouth. A white mist is going up. The small green nostrils breathe, And they turn in their sleep. Ousted from that warm bed We are a dream they dream. Their eyelids keep the shade. No harm can come to them. We cast our skins and slide Into another time.