I think that, with age, people come to realize that death is inevitable. And we need to learn to face it with serenity, wisdom and resignation. Death often frees us from a lot of senseless sufferings.
I became quietly seized with that nostalgia that overcomes you when you have reached the middle of your life and your father has recently died and it dawns on you that when he went he took some of you with him.
A man must be willing to die for justice. Death is an inescapable reality and men die daily, but good deeds live forever.
Even though we knew she was going to die eventually, when it happened it was still a terrible, rude shock. I thought I was prepared, but when it happened I fell apart. That’s when I realized I’d been hanging on to the hope, however slim, that as long as she was alive she might somehow get better.
It’s natural to die. The fact that we make such a big hullabaloo over it is all because we don’t see ourselves as part of nature. We think because we’re human we’re something above nature.
She already felt dead in everything but name. What remained to be taken from her? She longed to be enfolded, welcomed, into the earth – to breathe no more, love no more, hurt no more
The sharp knife of a short life, wellI’ve had, just enough time.
The lapse of ages changes all things – time – language – the earth – the bounds of the sea – the stars of the sky, and everything ‘about, around, and underneath’ man, except man himself, who has always been and always will be, an unlucky rascal. The infinite variety of lives conduct but to death, and the infinity of wishes lead but to disappointment. All the discoveries which have yet been made have multiplied little but existence.
Like many people, I feel like celebrating. Remember this feeling. It is human, and can help us understand when others express bloodlust.
I wonder if it will rain after we die. When you kill yourself, you don’t know what happens next, afterward.
And now — now it only remains for me to light a cigarette and go home. Dear God, only now am I remembering that people die. Does that include me?Don’t forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes.
Pain, unless it is physical, was sold to you (by your culture).
Everything comes to an end. A good bottle of wine, a summer’s day, a long-running sitcom, one’s life, and eventually our species. The question for many of us is not that everything will come to an end but when. And can we do anything vaguely useful until it does?
I wonder what I will do if she doesn’t wake up, and I don’t have an answer. As I lie back down next to her and pull her into my arms, my stomach growls, and suddenly I know exactly what I will do. If she doesn’t wake up, then I will just lie with her until I don’t wake up either.
Death is a fact of life, no matter where you live. Taking care of the dying is a necessity everywhere. Those are not conditions exclusive to small towns.
I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.
In Sleep we lie all naked and alone, in Sleep we are united at the heart of night and darkness, and we are strange and beautiful asleep; for we are dying the darkness and we know no death.
I wish I had a memory of that first violent shove, the shock of cold air, the sting of oxygen into new lungs. Everyone should remember being born. It doesn’t seem fair that we only remember dying.
My story will be over soon. But it’s not something to be sad about. As we count up the memories from one journey, we head off on another. Remembering those who went ahead. Remembering those who will follow after. And someday, we will meet all those people again, out beyond the horizon.
I knew that I had been partially right in the storeroom above the bar on Christmas Day. Whoever I had become had to die.
What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died? That she was beautiful. And brilliant. That she loved Mozart and Bach. And the Beatles. And me.
There are worse things in life than death. Have you ever spent an evening with an insurance salesman?
I just found this world a hard place to be good in,’ says Bunny, then he closes his eyes and, with an expiration of breath, goes still.
One to be a murderer. One to be a Martyr. One to be a Monarch. One to go Mad
We may like to combat disease or even want to cure death. We may try to surf on the waves of infinity and attempt to kill mortality. Nobody, though, ever recovers from the lethal illness. In the meantime, we’d better unlock temporal moments that deliver touches of eternity. They, for sure, never disappoint. ( Living on probation)
No death, no doom, no anguish can arouse the surpassing despair which flows from a loss of identity.- Through the Gates of the Silver Key
He’d been wrong, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and it was a flamethrower.
No individual death among human beings is important. Someone who dies leaves his work behind and that does not entirely die. It never entirely dies as long as humanity exists.
Each memory was brought to life before me and within me. I could not avoid them. Neither could I rationalize, explain away. I could only re-experience with total cognizance, unprotected by pretense. Self delusion was impossible, truth exposed in this blinding light. Nothing as I thought it had been. Nothing as I hoped it had been. Only as it had been.
Deep down, no one really believes they have a right to live. But this death sentence generally stays cosily tucked away, hidden beneath the difficulty of living. If that difficulty is removed from time to time, death is suddenly there, unintelligibly.
Death was an inverse Big Bang; an impossible magic trick where everything had become nothing in the very same instant, where one state had been replaced so completely by another that no evidence of the first could be detected, and where the catalyst had been vaporized by the sheer shock of the new.
Nico found a sort of freedom in knowing that eventually, no matter what happened, he would end up at the foot of his father’s throne.
They’s a heap more to God’s will than death, disapoint-ment, and like thet. Hit’s God’s will for us to be good and do good, love one another, be forgivin’… He laughed. I reckon I ain’t very forgivin’, son. I can forgive a fool, but I ain’t inner-rested in coddlin’ hypocrites. Well anyhow, folks who think God’s will jest has to do with sufferin’ and dyin’, they done missed the whole point.
Death is a lot like prom – loud, overdone, and although the guy you came with was cool, you never know who’ll end up taking you home.
Sinful and forbidden pleasures are like poisoned bread; they may satisfy appetite for the moment, but there is death in them at the end.
He cannot become old, for he has never been young; he cannot become young, for he has already become old; in a way he cannot die, for he has never lived; in a way he cannot live, for he is already dead.
Accepting death doesn’t mean you won’t be devastated when someone you love dies. It means you will be able to focus on your grief, unburdened by bigger existential questions like, Why do people die? and Why is this happening to me? Death isn’t happening to you. Death is happening to us all.
It is never too late to ask yourself, ‘Am I ready to change the life I am living? Am I ready to change within?’ Even if a single day in your life is the same as the day before, it surely is a pity. At every moment and with each new breath, one should be renewed and renewed again. There is only one way to be born into a new life: to die before death.
The universe was exploding, each particle away from the next, hurtling us into dark and lonely space, eternally tearing us away from each other – child out of the womb, friend away from friend, moving from each other, each through his own pathway towards the goal-box of solitary death.
You smile upon your friend to-day,To-day his ills are over;You hearken to the lover’s say,And happy is the lover.’Tis late to hearken, late to smile, But better late than never:I shall have lived a little whileBefore I die for ever.
Of all the ways I had imagined my death, getting beaten by my zombified mentor while trapped by a cannibalistic window handle wasn’t one of them
Because no one needs to live for ever. I think that sometimes you can outstay your welcome.
No matter what, I want to continue living with the awareness that I will die. Without that, I am not alive.
Some people say my work is often depressing and pessimistic, with the emphasis on death, blood, overcrowding, strange beings and so on, but I don’t really think it is.
Endings are not always bad. Most times they’re just beginnings in disguise.
I always say, if you must mount the gallows, give a jest to the crowd, a coin to the hangman, and make the drop with a smile on your lips.
Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would smile at the beauty of destruction.
How do you measure the life of one person against the greater good? Can it ever be the right thing to sacrifice an innocent person? And how do you know what the greater good really is?
The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our separate ways, I to die, and you to live. Which of these two is better only God knows.
WHO KNOWS WHAT EVIL LURKS IN THE HEART OF MEN?The Death of Rats looked up from the feast of the potato. SQUEAK, he said.Death waved a hand dismissively. WELL, YES, OBVIOUSLY ME, he said. I JUST WONDERED IF THERE WAS ANYONE ELSE.
She died–this was the way she died;And when her breath was done,Took up her simple wardrobeAnd started for the sun.Her little figure at the gateThe angels must have spied,Since I could never find herUpon the mortal side.
All through life there were distinctions – toilets for men, toilets for women; clothes for men, clothes for women – then, at the end, the graves are identical.
Sometimes there’s nothing you can do. […] Sometimes they don’t have enough to fight with.
There was not an inch of solid ground anywhere in the world for me to call my own. I didn’t belong anywhere. Had I disappeared, no one would have noticed.
Celaena knew where she was before she awoke. And she didn’t care. She was living the same story again and again.The night she’d been captured, she’d also snapped, and come so close to killing the person she most wanted to destroy before someone knocked her out and she awoke in a rotting dungeon. She smiled bitterly as she opened her eyes. It was always the same story, the same loss.
He shoved her aside and forced his sword, to the hilt, straight through James’s torso.