Quotes About Death

Y allá en el fondo está la muerte si no corremos y llegamos antes y comprendemos que ya no importa.

Qué decirnos que no fueran superficies e ilusiones, de qué hablar si no pasaríamos nunca al otro lado para cerrar el dibujo, si seguíamos buscándonos desde muertos y muñecas.

Y si nos mordemos el dolor es dulce, y si nos ahogamos en un breve y terrible absorber simultáneo de aliento, esa instantánea muerte es bella. Y hay una sola saliva y un solo sabor a fruta madura, y yo te siento temblar como una luna en el agua.

Menos mal que ni vos ni yo somos cursis, porque de aquí salía uno muerto y el otro con las esposas puestas.

Y si nos mordemos el dolor es dulce, y si nos ahogamos en un breve y terrible absorber simultáneo del aliento, esa instantánea muerte es bella.

Sólo esa vez, excentrado como un matador mítico para quien matar es devolver el toro al mar y el mar al cielo

Viata, ca un comentariu despre ceva ce nu putem cuprinde si care se afla aici, la un pas de saltul pe care nu-l facem. Viata, un balet cu un subiect istoric, o istorie intemeiata pe un fapt trait, un fapt trait bazat pe un fapt real. Viata, fotografiere a numarului, posedare in neguri (femeie, monstru?), viata, proxeneta a mortii, splendid joc de carti, tarot cu simboluri uitate pe care niste maini deformate de guta il reduc la o biata pasienta.

Como el sultán no tiene miedo de la Muerte, sale a su vez y echa a caminar y detrás del rosal encuentra a la Muerte y le dice: "¿Por qué le hiciste un gesto de amenaza a mi jardinero a quien yo tanto quiero?". Y la Muerte le contesta: "No hice un gesto de amenaza, hice un gesto de sorpresa al verlo porque tengo que encontrarlo esta noche en Samarcanda".

Las mujeres son la muerte —dijo Oliveira—. Ahí donde la ves, lo más modosita al lado de la rayuela... Mejor no les abrás, Manú, estamos tan bien así.

Yo soy como el ave cisne, que canta cuando se muere

morir en el verano es morir dos veces, pues muchos de los que te quieren no están para despedirte.

No concibo mi vida más que como un encadenamiento de muertes sucesivas. Arrastro tras de mí los cadáveres de todas mis ilusiones, de todas mis vocaciones perdidas.

I love the name of honor, more than I fear death.

Which death is preferably to every other? 'The unexpected'.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that 1 yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear, Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

We all wish not to be disturbed. Instead we want to live out our lives in feasting and idleness, hoping the ugliness of this rebelius world will never touch us. Ignoring death, pretending it will never happen, or that if it does, the great, kind, merciful God will overlook our years of defiance and whisk us off to some magical land where we can go right on in our wicked ways.

It was so cold in this garden of the dead. Even in the sunshine, even draped in its mantle of serenity with its brightly coloured flowers, its burnished brass plaques and symbols of faith, the closeness of death was overpowering and claustrophobic.

Ramfis fled the country after Trujillo's death, lived dissolutely off his father's swag, and ended up dying in a car crash of his own devising in 1969; the other car he hit contained the Duchess of Albuquerque, Teresa Beltrán de Lis, who died instantly; Lil'Fuckface went on murdering right to the end.

Saw for a brief instant La Inca praying in her room - the silence that lay between them now, stronger than love - and in the gloaming of her dwindling strength there yawned a loneliness so total it was beyond death, a loneliness that obliterated all memory, the loneliness of a childhood where she'd not even had her own name.

I died and then was brought to life, the oldest tale there is. I

Because the world was not the world, that was the thing, that was the terrible truth he had discovered. It was a dream world, a veil of light and sound and matter that the real world hid behind. Walkers in a dream of death, that's what they were, and the dreamer was the girl, this Girl from Nowhere. The world was a dream and she was dreaming them!

Courage is easy, when the alternative is getting killed.

How stark everything became, at the end, all the wishes for one's children distilled by the world's swift cruelty into the desperate hope that death would take them fast.

The road to death is a long march beset with all evils, and the heart fails little by little at each new terror, the bones rebel at each step, the mind sets up its own bitter resistance and to what end? The barriers sink one by one, and no covering of the eyes shuts out the landscape of disaster, nor the sight of crimes committed there. —KATHERINE ANNE PORTER