Quotes About Death

The healthiest response to death is to love, honor, and celebrate life.

Dying doesn't cause suffering. Resistance to dying does.

some accuse hospice and palliative care clinicians of promoting a "culture of death" when we allow dying people to leave this life gently, without subjecting them to CPR or mechanical ventilation or dialysis or medical nutrition.

even a person who decides to forgo treatment does not necessarily choose death. Rather, he chooses life without the burden of disproportionate medical intervention.

Dying is the most universal and arguably most difficult of life events. Pretty much by definition, dying people are as sick as they have ever been.

To fully and authentically affirm life, we must affirm all of life, including dying, death, and grief.

Paralyse and ultimately kill.

My te? musimy wypeÅ'ni? nasze zadanie, co oznacza miÄ™dzy innymi pilne oglÄ…danie telewizji i Å›mier? w wieku 62 lat. A caÅ'a wolno??, o której mo?emy marzy?, to fajka, parÄ™ dowcipów i trochÄ™ nadprogramowego pieprzenia. Nie tra?my tego, co mamy, dobrze?

How different each death is, and yet it leads us into the self-same country, that country which we inhabit so rarely, where we see the worthlessness of what we have long pursued and will so soon return to pursuing.

So we live; a spirit that broods and hovers over the continual death of time, the lost meaning, the unrecaptured moment, the unremembered face, until the final chop that ends all our moments and plunges that spirit back into the void from which it came.

You know what. You've killed me and sent me to hell, and you must descend to the underworld to find me and make me live again. If you don't come for me, I'll become a demon and drag you down into the dark.

Let me sleep at last. I've had misery enough in my life. You said there was nowhere to go to. There is death to go to. I've had misery enough in my life.

But death is not easy, and life can win by simulating it.

The death of God has set the angels free. And they are terrible. There are principalities and powers. Angels are the thoughts of God. Now he had been dissolved into his thoughts which are beyond our conception in their nature and their multiplicity and their power. God was at least the name of something which we thought was good. Now even the name has gone and the spiritual world is scattered. There is nothing any more to prevent the magnetism of many spirits.

Death is not the consummation of oneself but just the end of oneself. Before the self vanishes nothing really is, and that is how it is most of the time. But as soon as the self vanishes everything is, and becomes automatically the object of love. Love holds the world together, and if we could forget ourselves everything in the world would fly into a perfect harmony, and when we see beautiful things that is what they remind us of.

She was her death now, that death which she had so much striven to emulate in life, which she had studied and practised and loved. She had succeeded, and death and she had converged into a single point. Who knew if that was victory or defeat? His last vision was of the white veil that hid her now. After all, and at last, she had become utterly private.

You rail on us all for not being saints. Yes, yes, yes. And when I stop that railing I shall be dead. It is the only thing I know and I shall cry it out again and again, like a tedious little bird with only one song.

Perhaps one could not live with such knowledge. One might die for it, or of it.

Extreme continuing unhappiness often consoles itself with images of death which may in a sense be idle, but which can play a vital part in consolation and also in the continuance of illusion. If that happens I am dead, consoles, and also dulls the edge of speculation and even of conscience. It is another way of saying, to me that cannot happen.

none of these things had really got to happen at all, since she could prevent them. The power of pure destruction was still hers. She could still make it death or glory.

But suicides are mysterious, and one must respect their mystery.

Why does one never see dead birds? How can they all hide to die?

If only one could believe that death was waking up.

Death contradicts ownership and self.