Quotes About Death

His father took off the man's head with a single sure stroke. Blood sprayed out across the snow, as red as summerwine.

Summer Islanders. That's how they mourn. They answer death with life.

Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds.

even as she was feeling sorry for him she was killing him, shouting, "Winterfell! Winterfell!" while Hot Pie screamed "Hot Pie!" beside her as he hacked at the man's scrawny neck.

The dead are likely dull fellows, full of tedious complaints—the ground's too cold, my gravestone should be larger, why does he get more worms than I do …

Rubini schizzano via come gocce di sangue dal petto di un principe morente che si accascia nell'acqua, mormorando il nome di una donna.

We'll go back to the cave," he said. "You're not going to die, Ygritte. You're not." "Oh." Ygritte cupped his cheek with her hand. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she sighed, dying.

Az él?knek mosolyogni kell, hiszen a halottak nem tudnak.

Communists understand no language other than the cries of agony, to which they are accustomed. Kindness and sympathy or a humane approach will only make them suspicious. They know the world hates them, and that they can exist only by the force of arms, blackmail, fire, rebellion, destruction, death!

Fear kills more people than death.

No dumb bastard ever won a war by going out and dying for his country. He won it by making some other dumb bastard die for his country.

A real man will never let his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate manhood.

Death can be more exciting than life.

I am convinced that much more emphasis should be placed on history. The purpose of history is to learn how human beings react when exposed to the danger of wounds or death...

For a man who has done his natural duty, death is as natural as sleep.

Only the dead have seen the end of the war.

The fact of having been born is a bad augury for immortality.

Why were we put here, so inclined to love, when end of our story = death? That harsh. That cruel. Do not like.

Each of us earns his death, his own death, which belongs to no one else and this game is life.

The coward sneaks to death the brave live on.

We speak in (rich) monotones. Our poetry is haunted by the music it has left behind. Orpheus shrinks to a poet when he looks back, with the impatience of reason, on a music stronger than death.

The capacity for imaginative reflex, for moral risk in any human being is not limitless; on the contrary, it can be rapidly absorbed by fictions, and thus the cry in the poem may come to sound louder, more urgent, more real than the cry in the street outside. The death in the novel may move us more potently than the death in the next room. Thus there may be a covert, betraying link between the cultivation of aesthetic response and the potential of personal inhumanity.

I ain't never saw a hearse with a luggage rack." (Quote by George Strait, country singer, and appearing at the end of Bob Mitchell's memoir, Time for a Heart-to-Heart: Reflections on Life in the Face of Death.

It's a time of sorrow and sadness when we lose a loss of life.