Quotes About Death

When good Americans die, they go to Paris,' the ghost said, after taking a drag on a small cigarette.

You will die a worse death if you do not leave my domain," a voice thundered down from the third story of the old tenement. "I am a servant of the Sacred Fire, the wielder of the flame of Arnor—" "So I should call you Gandalf?

The worst part was the silence. Death was supposed to be loud — gunshots, explosions, screams and thunder. Not this eerie quiet that wrapped around me like a shroud.

There are a thousand ways to die," he told me quietly. "There are so few really to live. I would gladly risk the former for the latter, and it is my choice, is it not? To risk whatever I must, my heart, my body, my soul, in order to be with you. Is that not what love is? – Louis-Cesare

He'd faced death many times. But not like this. Not butchered like an animal, and sold like a piece of flesh in the market.

Had she been a more instinctive, "natural" cook, she might have felt less compelled to parse each recipe, to tackle each one as though getting it right were a matter of life and death.

I had never felt so alone. I was in the deadlands, the limbo where souls wander nameless and formless, unable to speak or to touch. And in that blind silence I knew it was not the nature of death that frightened me; it was what lay beyond, not Heaven, not Hell, but spirit without a form, without a place to be. I would be nowhere. I would be nothing. [Chapter 26]

Most spells only have power in this life, but a mandrake's born at the same instant a man dies. That means its curse can follow you through the gates of death itself and into the life beyond. I'd not go against it, not for a whole kingdom and and every lusty man in it.

A witch cannot die until her familiars or imps are dead. If a witch desires to put an end to her suffering she must call each familiar by name and order it to die. Then, when the last is dead, she too will die. Greetwell Edward

The old woman cocked her head on one side. 'You wouldn't let me starve.' 'Wouldn't I?' 'I could put a hex on you that you'd never undo,' the old woman raged. I could bring a cooked fish alive in your throat even as you swallow it to choke you to death. You still don't know the half of what I know, girl, and you never will. You don't have the skill or patience to master it. Haven't had to learn it to survive, not like me, and that's your trouble.

Death by fire. That was something they all knew about, even those who hadn't seen it, hand't smelt the stench that hangs round a town for days, hadn't heard the screams that echo night after night through your dreams; even those who had not witnessed a burning had heard tell of it and shuddered.

Dying is overrated. Human sentimentality has twisted it into the ultimate act of love. Biggest load of bullshit in the world. Dying for someone isn't the hard thing. The man that dies escapes. Plain and simple. Game over. End of pain...Try living for someone. Through it all-good, bad, thick, thin, joy, suffering. That's the hard thing.

Regardless of how many people I surrounded myself with, no matter how many friends and family I loved and was loved by in return, I was alone at the moment of being born and at the moment of dying. Nobody came with you and nobody went with you. It was a journey of one.

Don't accuse me of being morbid when I'm merely the product of a culture that buries the bones of the ones they love in pretty, manicured flower gardens so they can keep them nearby and go talk to them whenever they feel troubled or depressed. That's morbid. Not to mention bizarre. Dogs bury bones, too.

Walk out of this with your parents, the stones, and Darroc dead, Ms. Lane, and I'll give you the bloody thing.

What no one tells you is that when someone you love dies, you lose them twice. Once to death, the second time to acceptance, and you don't walk that long, dark passage between the two alone. Grief takes every shuffling, unwilling step with you, offering a seductive bouquet of memories that can only blossom south of sanity. You can stay there, nose buried in the petals of the past. But you're never really alive again.

Keeping vigil over her are two monsters of very different breeds but monster just the same. Death on her left. Devil on her right.

Did I have to be dead to get you to see me? Wake the fuck up, Ms. Lane. Dying is overrated. Human sentimentality has twisted it into the ultimate act of love. Biggest load of bullshit in the world. Dying for someone isn't the hard thing. The man that dies escapes . Plan and simple. Game over. End of pain. Alina was the lucky one. Try living for someone. Through it all - good, bad, thick, thin, joy, suffering. That's the hard thing.

Why did you laugh right before you lost consciousness." "Death's an adventure. I lived big. Rigor mortis makes your face stick. So, who knew how to thaw me?" "Death's an insult." "At least an affront," I agree.

I'd never understood why anyone would want to live forever. It had always seemed to me that death lent life a certain poignancy, a necessary tension.

Death will come, grief will rain down again and again, and the only way to survive it and remain an alive, passionate being is to pay the price of pain every time, or you will become as barbarous and icy as the Fae. It's always going to hurt. But as long as you're still capable of suffering you're still capable of joy. Better the depths of hell and heights of heaven than the horror of feeling nothing.

I understood that Death wasn't the one to be feared. War was the one that laid waste to lives. Death was just the cleanup guy, the janitor, the final act.

I didn't have time to change." "Then you'll make it now. I'm not working on you with that much death on your skin.

He growls, "That fuck is dead. I burned what was left of him, poked around in the ashes, and waited to see if anything rose. It didn't. I ate them." I burst out laughing. "You did not eat Cruce's ashes." "The fuck I didn't.