Quotes About Death

He didn't go out with the garbage," Scythe Rand said. "I took care of it myself, then spread his ashes in a field of wild bluebonnets. Just saying.

What does a Nobel Prize in science mean when your lifesaving work has been transformed into an excuse to end life?

There was an odd justice to it. Not so much live-by-the-blade/die-by-the-blade; it was more becoming the blade, and losing oneself. Scythe Faraday had once told him and Citra that they were called scythes rather than reapers, because they were not the ones who killed; they were merely the tool that society used to bring fair-handed death to the world. But once you're the weapon, you're nothing more than a tool for someone else to wield.

How is a scythe disciplined?" Rowan had asked. "He was put to death twelvefold by a jury of scythes, then revived each time. After the twelfth revival, he was on probation for a year.

My greatest wish for humanity is not for peace or comfort. It is that we all still die a little inside every time we witness the death of another. For only the pain of empathy will keep us human. There's no version of God that can help us if we ever lose that.

For isn't it the mission of a prophet to not just bridge the gap between humanity and deity, but to also bridge the gap between life and death?

Immortality cannot temper the folly or frailty of youth. Innocence is doomed to die a senseless death at our own hands, a casualty of the mistakes we can never undo. So, we lay to rest the wide-eyed wonder we once thrived upon, replacing it with scars of which we never speak, too knotted for any amount of technology to repair.

My greatest wish for humanity is not for peace or for comfort or for joy. It is that we all still die a little inside every time we witness the death of another. For only the pain of empathy will keep us human. There's no version of God that can help us if we ever lose that.

Nous sommes devenus contre nature à partir du moment où nous avons conquis la mort

The thought of a scythe having milk and cookies before bed bordered on absurd to Citra. But she suppose even an agent of death would have guilty pleasures.

Let the dead be dead," agreed Rowan.

We are angels of death," said Scythe Goddard. "It is only fitting that we swoop in from the heavens.

In a world where disease has been eliminated, the only way to die is to be randomly killed ('gleaned') by professional reapers ('scythes'). Two teens must compete with each other to become a scythe—a position neither of them wants. The one who becomes a scythe must kill the one who doesn't

Acel ce-ÅŸi strânge lacom iubita-n braÅ£e pare Un muribund ce-n tain? mormântul ÅŸi-l dezmiard?.

As if, with beasts' eyes, angels led The way, I slip back to your bed, Quiet as a hooded light, Hushed by the shadows of the night. And then, my dark one, you shall soon Embrace the cold beams of the moon, Around a fresh grave, the chilling hiss Of serpent coiled shall be my kiss. When morning shows his livid face Your bed shall feel my empty place, As cold as death, till fall of night. Others take tenderness to wife: Dread gives away your youth and life To me, to be the bride of fright.

The panting lover bending o'er his fair one Looks like a dying man caressing his own tomb

Beauty, you walk on corpses, mocking them;

She is unaware of Hell and Purgatory And when the time comes for her to enter The black Night, she will look into the face of Death As a new-born child,—without hatred or remorse.

Oh Muerte, capitana, ya es tiempo, el ancla alcemos! Nos hastía esta tierra, ¡oh Muerte!, ¡hay que zarpar! Si son de tinta negros cielo y mar cual los vemos, nuestros pechos, que ahondaste, sólo saben brillar. ¡Vierte en nosotros el veneno que conforta! Mientras arda este fuego que en el cerebro llevo, sondeemos el abismo, Cielo, Infierno: ¿qué importa? ¡Al fondo de lo Ignoto para encontrar lo nuevo!

Rather than implore a tear of the world, Alive, I'd invite the crows To bleed my tainted carcass.

Yet who has not clasped a skeleton in his arms, Who has not fed upon what belongs to the grave?What matters the perfume, the costume or the dress? He who shows disgust believes that he is handsome.  Noseless dancer, irresistible whore, Tell those dancing couples who act so offended: Proud darlings, despite the art of makeup You all smell of death! Skeletons perfumed with musk

In all climes, under every sun, Death admires you At your antics, ridiculous Humanity, And frequently, like you, scenting herself with myrrh, Mingles her irony with your insanity!

Doar moartea consoleaz? ?i-ndeamn? a tr?i;e idealul vie?ii ?i e n?dejdea toat?,e elixirul care ne-anim? ?i ne-mbat? ?i care d? puterea s? mai tr?im o zi.

Te-admir? veÅŸnic Moartea,o,lume caraghioas?,în zvârcolirea-Å£i tâmp?,sub orice soare-ai sta,ÅŸi-ades,asemeni Å£ie,în smirn? se-mb?iaz?,mijindu-ÅŸi ironia în nebunia ta.