Quotes About Death

Defeat the fear of death and welcome the death of fear.

A man may be born, but in order to be born he must first die, and in order to die he must first awake.

Man has the possibility of existence after death. But possibility is one thing and the realization of the possibility is quite a different thing.

Les premiers instants du sommeil sont l'image de la mort...

If there is, to be sure, something more terrifying than the history of the fall of great empires, it is the history of the death of religions. Volney himself was overcome by this feeling as he visited the innumerable ruins of once-sacred buildings. The true believer may still escape from this impression, but with the inherent scepticism of our age all of us must sometime tremble to find so many dark gates opening out on to nothingness.

One third of our life is spent in sleep. It is consolation for the troubles of our waking hours or atonement for their pleasures; but I have never experienced sleep to be mere repose. After a few minutes lethargy, a new life begins, untrammeled by the limitations of time and space, and undoubtedly similar to that which awaits us after death...

In response to my question, brother shook his head. "Then he's dead," I said. And repeated myself , something I don't often do: "Then he's dead." What is strange was that when I uttered those words, nothing happened. The state of the universe was no worse than usual. Sleeping the same old sleep, everything continued to wear down as if nothing was amiss.

Gerçek dinin ölüm üzerine bir meditasyon de?il, hayat üzerine bir meditasyon olmas? gerekti?ini (oradan) ö?rendim.

Humans in the power of death looks no worthier than animal, cherish ur life!

The young open the paper to forget about life by reading the funny strips. The old do it to forget about death by reading other people's obits. My advice: don't open the paper and go on with your life.

It was either Voltaire or Charlie Sheen who said, 'We are born alone. We live alone. We die alone. And anything in between that can give us the illusion that we're not, we cling to.'

The death of the Curé Ponosse occurred in the vintage month, when his beloved Clochemerle was impregnated with the odour of new wine, in the golden glory of a brilliant, hot September. The old priest died in the apotheosis of a great year, famous for its wine, one of those years whose fragrant soul is destined to be poured, later, from bottles, to rejoice the heart of man, to celebrate earth's abundance, the memories of happy days, and perfect summers.

Here everything is planned for killing. The ground is ready to receive us, the bullets are ready to hit us, the spots where the shells will explode are fixed in time and space, just like the paths of our destiny which will inevitably lead us to them. And yet we want to stay alive and we use all our mental strength to silence the voice of reason. We are well aware that death does not immortalise a human being in the memories of the living, it simply cancels him out.

Veganism is a brilliant approach for elevating human consciousness and avoiding the energy of death and degeneration associated with killing animals for food, which enters us when we eat their flesh and blood.

I had always imagined, Westfield said, that one could either die tragically, cut short with much still to be done, or that one could die old and full of years, as the Bible has it, after having put one's house in order. I had never considered that there is a third alternative, in which one went on living and yet found no order in one's life, in which everything at the end was as confused and unfinished as it had always been.

Poate c? speran?a e combustia psihic? sub-în?eleas? a vie?ii. Avem s?dit în noi un program de a?teptare al unui "totu?i va fi bine", iar asta, culmea!, în condi?iile în care ne na?tem cu o condamnare la moarte în buzunar. Suntem h?r?zi?i mor?ii, ?i cu toate astea travers?m etapele vie?ii sperând, a?teptând mai binele.

I am Cassandra—she who, without asking, understood it all and still came to her fate, I, Cassandra, full of visions, who sees her own death without turning away, and hears in the night the day that follows.

Because she—you hear her—she's calling, and is always going to call, and it's better both of us die by the dagger without anyone seeing us, Orestes, and die a fit death.

If it's all been dream and delirium may death ripen me in my dream.

y en país sin nombre me voy a morir

Yo no me explico el amor sino por los muertos, que ya no pueden traicionar ni desgajar la ilusión.

Full with frets I die, but not slain by you. My chest drains itself, painlessly. Is all this not blood? Oh, Lord—it's dew! The dawn, weeping, washes over me.

I am a school teacher doing life and death sums.

It's a tragic fact to die in an accident