Quotes About Death

To be idle is a short road to death and to be diligent is a way of life foolish people are idle, wise people are diligent.

It would be better not to know how to write. Then one would not have to sign death sentences."16

The readers are in love with shipwrecks and terrible disasters. And they make it sound very tragic...but also...wonderful. I don't know how they do it. Or why they do it...They make death sound beautiful, just because the lines rhyme and the poet puts his words together right. But it's mot really like that. - Anne Shirley

My brother was a great favorite with everybody, and his death cast a gloom upon the whole neighborhood.

Wild Bill was anything but a quarrelsome man yet I have personal knowledge of at least half a dozen men whom he had at various times killed.

So for twelve miles I rode with Sherman, and we became fast friends. He asked me all manner of questions on the way, and I found that he knew my father well, and remembered his tragic death in Salt Creek Valley.

Shooting people to keep them from dying had logical flaws obvious to everyone.

There's nothing to mourn about death any more than there is to mourn about the growing of a flower. What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don't live up until their death. They don't honor their own lives ... their minds are full of cotton. They swallow God without thinking, they swallow country without thinking. Soon they forget how to think, they let others think for them.... Most people's deaths are a sham. There's nothing left to die.

In those jaws of swift destruction, like another Jonah (by which name they indeed called him), bustles a little withered old man, who, for their money, dearly sells the sailors deliriums and death. Abominable are the tumblers into which he pours his poison.

And as for small difficulties and worryings, prospects of sudden disaster, peril of life and limb; all these, and death itself, seem to him only sly, good-natured hits, and jolly punches in the side bestowed by the unseen and unaccountable old joker.

Oh, lonely death on lonely life! Oh, now I feel my topmost greatness lies in my topmost grief.

better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee

Command the murderous chalices...Drink ye harpooners! drink and swear, ye men that man the deathful whaleboat's bow--Death to Moby Dick!

Life folded Death; Death trellised Life; the grim god wived with youthful Life, and begat him curly-headed glories. Now

the man that wandereth out of the way of understanding shall remain (i.e. even while living) in the congregation of the dead.

In most instances, such seemed the White Whale's infernal aforethought of ferocity, that every dismembering or death that he caused, was not wholly regarded as having been inflicted by an unintelligent agent.

Methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of Life and Death. Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. Methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through the water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air. Methinks my body is but the lees of my better being. In fact take my body who will, take it I say, it is not me. And therefore three cheers for Nantucket;

For though I tried to move his arm— unlock his bridegroom clasp—yet, sleeping as he was, he still hugged me tightly, as though naught but death should part us twain.

why all the living so strive to hush all the dead; wherefore but the rumor of a knocking in a tomb will terrify a whole city. All these things are not without their meanings.

Best followed now is this life, by hurrying, like itself, to a close. Few things remain. He was repulsed in efforts after a pension by certain caprices of law. His scars proved his only medals. He dictated a little book, the record of his fortunes. But long ago it faded out of print--himself out of being--his name out of memory. He died the same day that the oldest oak on his native hills was blown down.

whale.The vast white headless phantom floats further and further from the ship, and every rod that it so floats, what seem square roods of sharks and cubic roods of fowls, augment the murderous din. For hours and hours from the almost stationary ship that hideous sight is seen. Beneath the unclouded and mild azure sky, upon the fair face of the pleasant sea, wafted by the joyous breezes, that great mass of death floats on and on, till lost in infinite perspectives.

Old age is always wakeful; as if, the longer linked with life, the less man has to do with aught that looks like death.

Life folded Death; Death trellised Life; the grim god wived with youthful Life, and begat him curly-headed glories.

A short life to them, and a jolly death.