In the end, all you want is someone to long for you when it comes time to put you in the ground.
Because misery, and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will did it. I have no broken your heart – you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong.
Don’t wake me for the end of the world unless it has very good special effects.
It’s not contagious, you know. Death is as natural as life. It’s part of the deal we made.
He was dead, all right. He had been shot, poisoned, stabbed, and strangled. Either somebody had really had it in for him or four people had killed him. Or else it was the cleverest suicide I’d ever heard of.
We’re reaching for death on the end of a candle We’re trying for something that’s already found us
Which natural gift would you most like to possess? The ability to master other languages (which would have hugely enhanced the scope of these answers).How would you like to die? Fully conscious, and either fighting or reciting (or fooling around).What do you most dislike about your appearance? The way in which it makes former admirers search for neutral words.
Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me.
It was a year for the ages, like 79, like 1346, to name just a few. Forget the scythe, Goddamn it, I needed a broom or a mop. And I needed a vacation.
I’m not blessed, or merciful. I’m just me. I’ve got a job to do, and I do it. Listen: even as we’re talking, I’m there for old and young, innocent and guilty, those who die together and those who die alone. I’m in cars and boats and planes; in hospitals and forests and abbatoirs. For some folks death is a release, and for others death is an abomination, a terrible thing. But in the end, I’m there for all of them.
I think the saddest thing in the world will be for people who face their death and realize they never lived. That won’t be me.
Civilized society is perpetually menaced with disintegration through this primary hostility of men towards one another.
As a medical doctor, I have known the face of adversity. I have seen much of death and dying, suffering and sorrow. I also remember the plight of students overwhelmed by their studies and of those striving to learn a foreign language. And I recall the fatigue and frustration felt by young parents with children in need.
If life is a punishment, one should wish for an end; if life is a test, one should wish it to be short.
There is no harm in patience, and no profit in lamentation. Death is easier to bear (than) that which precedes it, and more severe than that which comes after it. Remember the death of the Apostle of God, and your sorrow will be lessened.
My heart has joined the Thousand, for my friend stopped running today.
The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper,Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of starsLetting in the light, peephole after peephole— A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.–from Insomniac, written April 1961
Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.
How many boys like him were out there in the ether, holding on to their big brothers and sisters who were still alive? How many husbands were floating between life and death, clinging to their wives in this world? And how may millions and millions of people were there in the world like Charlie who wouldn’t let go of their loved ones when they’re gone?
This is a long goodbye, yet not time enough. I have no aptitude for this. I cannot learn this. I would hold on, and hold on, until my hands clutch at emptiness.
Let us think of people as starting life with an experience they forget and ending it with one which they anticipate but cannot understand.
Pentru mine, moartea este doar hotarul unde încetează să mai existe mâine. Numai până acolo poți să iubești, să visezi, să regreți. Brusc, tot ce n-ai făcut va rămâne pentru totdeauna nefăcut.
Doesn’t our knowledge of death make life more precious?’What good is a preciousness based on fear and anxiety? It’s an anxious quivering thing
No sense of the irony of human experience, that we are the highest form of life on earth, and yet ineffably sad because we know what no other animal knows, that we must die.
We never actively remember death,’ Odenigbo said. The reason we live as we do is because we do not remember that we will die. We will all die.
I’ve been doing this a long time, and I’ve come to learn that predictions don’t mean much. Too much lies outside the realm of medical knowledge. A lot of what happens next comes down to you and your specific genetics, your attitude. No, there’s nothing we can do to stop the inevitable, but that’s not the point. The point is that you should try to make the most of the time you have left.
The amount of death terror experienced is closely related to the amount of life unlived.
It’s been a prevalent notion. Fallen sparks. Fragments of vessels broken at the Creation. And someday, somehow, before the end, a gathering back to home. A messenger from the Kingdom, arriving at the last moment. But I tell you there is no such message, no such home — only the millions of last moments . . . nothing more. Our history is an aggregate of last moments.
The two stand in the fast-thinning throng of victims, but they speak as if they were alone. Eye to eye, voice to voice, hand to hand, heart to heart, these two children of the Universal Mother, else so wide apart and differing, have come together on the dark highway, to repair home together and to rest in her bosom.
Yes, it’s a well-known fact about you: you’re like death, you take everything.
At the evident risk of seeming ridiculous, I want to begin by saying that I have tried for much of my life to write as if I was composing my sentences to be read posthumously. I hope this isn’t too melodramatic or self-centred a way of saying that I attempt to write as if I did not care what reviewers said, what peers thought, or what prevailing opinions may be.
The racial terrorism of lynchings in many ways created the modern death penalty. America’s embrace of speedy executions was, in part, an attempt to redirect the violent energies of lynching while ensuring white southerners that black men would still pay the ultimate price.
Does it make you brave to stick your hand in a bear’s mouth? Would you do it again just because you didn’t die?
It hurts when they’re gone. And it doesn’t matter if it’s slow or fast, whether it’s a long drawn-out disease or an unexpected accident. When they’re gone the world turns upside down and you’re left holding on, trying not to fall off.
In the time that we’re here today, more women and children will die violently in the Darfur region than in Iraq, Afghanistan, Palestine, Israel or Lebanon. So, after September 30, you won’t need the UN – you will simply need men with shovels and bleached white linen and headstones.
Would you give up your vengeance against someone you hate if it meant saving someone you love? Would you want your dreams to come true if it meant granting your enemy’s dying wish?
Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door;Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shoreWhere neither piping bird nor peeping dawnDisturbs the eternal sleep,But in the stillness far withdrawnOur dreamless rest for evermore we keep.
A coward,’ he declared with dignity, when he’d stopped coughing and had got his breath back, ‘dies a hundred times. A brave man dies but once. But Dame Fortune favours the brave and holds the coward in contempt.’— Dandelion
Have you ever, for even a second, thought about how hard it is for people like me just to stay alive?
Tonight I want to stand on the side of a cliff and look down, dare the wind to gust and knock me off. Everyone thinks that falling to your death is the worst thing that can happen. But that’s a lie. The worst thing is to be alive for no reason.
We each owe a death, there are no exceptions, I know that, but sometimes, oh God, the Green Mile is so long
But I don’t know what to him about the aftermath of killing a person. About how they never leave you.
I prefer my history dead. Dead history is writ in ink, the living sort in blood.Do you want to die old and craven in your bed?How else? Though not till I’m done reading.
Death? Why all this fuss about death? Use your imagination, try to visualize a world without death! Death is the essential condition to life, not an evil.
The living used to wonder what happened after death. She said that whole religions were born and evolved around this one simple uncertainty.
Sunsets are loved because they vanish.Flowers are loved because they go.The dogs of the field and the cats of the kitchen are loved because soon they must depart.These are not the sole reasons, but at the heart of morning welcomes and afternoon laughters is the promise of farewell. In the gray muzzle of an old dog we see goodbye. In the tired face of an old friend we read long journeys beyond returns.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call’d him soft names in many a musèd rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die,To cease upon the midnight with no pain,While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
And then we ease him out of that worn-out body with a kiss, and he’s gone like a whisper, the easiest breath.
I’ll fall.”You wont fall.”I’ll fall. I’ll fall and I’ll die.’As I said it, I could see it happening. The foot stepping on air, pulling the rest of my body with it, tree limbs breaking as I plummeted down. ‘No,’ he said, his voice assured, ‘You’d never do that to me.
Oh Julie, wouldn’t I know if you were dead? Wouldn’t I feel it happening, like a jolt of electricity to my heart?
Our planet is poorly equipped for delight.One must snatch gladness from the days that are.In this lifeit’s not difficult to die.To make lifeis more difficult by far.
Miranda rolls her eyes. Passing over, she says. That’s nice. Is that anything like kicking the bucket? Keeling over, taking a dirt nap, biting the big one?
When it comes to death, we know that laughter and tears are pretty much the same thing.
My father will find you and kill you for what you have done.” She said to him solemnly.Maligo towered over her, a leering smile twisting his dark face.“You would have to consider yourself lucky if you ever see your father again. Even if it is while he watches me take your life.” He snarled, allowing a haughty smirk creep across his face.
Emma, everyone’s afraid of something. We fear things because we value them. We fear losing people because we love them. We fear dying because we value being alive. Don’t wish you didn’t fear anything. All that would mean is that you didn’t feel anything.