We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love
If any foreign minister begins to defend to the death a ‘peace conference’, you can be sure his government has already placed its orders for new battleships and airplanes.
Then, as his planet killed him, it occurred to Kynes that his father and all the other scientists were wrong, that the most persistent principles of the universe were accident and error.
[Children] just cannot be sad too long, it is not in them, as children mourn in little bits here and there like patchwork in their lives.
Being unable to cure death, wretchedness and ignorance, men have decided, in order to be happy, not to think about such things.
There is some delight in ale and wineAnd some in girls with ankles fineBut my delight, yes always mineIs to dance with Jak O’ the ShadowsWe will toss the dice however they fallAnd snuggle the girls be they short or tallThen follow Lord Mat whenever he callsTo dance with Jak O’ the Shadows.
The heaviness of loss in her heart hadn’t eased, but there was room there for humour, too.
Mad Eye’ Moody on the Avada Kedavra curse: Not nice, he said calmly. Not pleasant. And there’s no counter curse. There’s no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he’s sitting right in front of me.
End? No, the journey doesn’t end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.
Maybe they did what they had to do to live, and tried to get a little love and have a little fun before the darkness took them.
What mancan you show me who places any value on his time, who reckons the worth of each day, who understands that he isdying daily? For we are mistaken when we look forward to death; the major portion of death has already passed,Whatever years be behind us are in death’s hands.
They were people whose lives were slow, who did not see themselves growing old, or falling sick, or dying, but who disappeared little by little in their own time, turning into memories, mists from other days, until they were absorbed into oblivion.
They say that just before you die your whole life flashes before your eyes, but that’s not how it happened for me.
I’d heard that if you saw a Reaper, you saw what you expected to see, what you thought the agents of Death would look like. Personally, I wanted to see little, fuzzy pink bunnies, but apparently my subconscious visualized tall, scary, and skeletal. My subconscious and I needed to have a long talk.
Aren’t you afraid of dying?Not really. I’ve watched lots of good-for-nothing, worthless people die, and if people like that can do it, then I should be able to handle it.
I am afraid of reduction. After a lifetime’s independence- yes, selfish independence- I am terrified of being reduced to childhood once more, to helplessness, to seas of confusion from which the cruel lucid intervals poke up like rock shoals. I don’t want to sit in my chair and be fed, much less do I want to be handed over to medical professionals.
And so I have to live. Because we live for more than just ourselves, Most of the time we live for others, keep putting one foot before the other, left and right, left and right, so that walking becomes a habit, just like breathing. Ina n out, left and right.
Death is a state of mind—many people on Earth spend their entire lives dead.
When you’re dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you’re dead? Nobody.
There were heavy beams – planks of sun – falling randomly, wonderfully, onto the road. Clouds arched their backs to lok behind as they started again to move on. ‘It’s such a beautiful day,’ he said, and his voice was in many pieces. A great day to die. A great day to die, like this.
I’d rather die tomorrow than live a hundred years without knowing you.
Don’t interfere! The Doctor silenced her angrily. I cannot will my own destruction.
Die, die we all pass away, But don’t wear a frown coz it’s really okay,And you might try to hide, And you might try to pray,But we all end up remains of the day.
Just for a while: Death’s opening chat-up line in His great seduction, before he drugged you with soporific comforts, distracted you with minor luxuries and ensnared you with long-term payment plans.Join the Rat Race just for a while.Concentrate on your career just for a while.Move in with your girlfriend just for a while.Find a bigger place, out in the burbs just for a while.Lie down in that wooden box just for a while.
You’re Hell’s Angels, then? What chapter are you from?”REVELATIONS. CHAPTER SIX.
How talented was death. How many expressions and manipulations of hand, face, body, no two alike.
Disease, insanity, and death were the angels that attended my cradle, and since then have followed me throughout my life.
I don’t eat friggin’ lobster or anything like that. Because they’re alive when you kill it.
Lebih banyak orang menghadapi kematian di atas tempat tidur daripada orang yang mati di atas pesawat. Tetapi kenapa lebih banyak orang yang takut mati ketika menaiki pesawat daripada orang yang takut menaiki tempat tidur.More people can see the face of death while their sleep in their own bed rather than people who can see the face of death while their flying in the plane. But why more people scare to take a plane than people who take a bed.
It’s okay if you want to go. Everyone wants you to stay. I want you to stay more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. But that’s what I want and I could see why it might not be what you want. So I just wanted to tell you that I understand if you go. It’s okay if you have to leave us. It’s okay if you want to stop fighting.
I will not tell you our love story, because—like all real love stories—it will die with us, as it should.
How heavy a body that has been traversed by death is, life is light, there’s no need to let anyone make it heavy for us
Does anyone else day dream about what it would be like if specific age groups just dropped dead all across the world?
What I wanted to express very clearly and intensely was that the reason these people had to invent or imagine heroes and gods is pure fear. Fear of life and fear of death.
The family exists for many reasons, but its most basic function may be to draw together after a member dies.
There really is only one ending to any story. Human life ends in death. Until then, it keeps going and gets complicated and there’s loss. Everything involves loss; every relationship ends in one way or another.
How could a person have and do all these stupid things–clip coupons and double lock the front door–and then one day just cease to exist?
She Dwelt Among the Untrodden WaysShe dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove,A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love:A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye!—Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be;But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!
The death of a person is not some number. Everyone’s lives must have meaning. What’s written here is something you could never feel from the words ‘four dead.’ It’s their breath.
A man falling off a cliff to certain death will stretch out a hand even to his worst enemy.
My father chose my name , and my last name was chosen by my ancestors . That’s enough, I myself choose my way
Dying is overrated. Human sentimentality has twisted it into the ultimate act of love. Biggest load of bullshit in the world. Dying for someone isn’t the hard thing. The man that dies escapes. Plain and simple. Game over. End of pain…Try living for someone. Through it all-good, bad, thick, thin, joy, suffering. That’s the hard thing.
The flesh surrenders itself. Eternity takes back its own. Our bodies stirred these waters briefly, danced with a certain intoxication before the love of life and self, dealt with a few strange ideas, then submitted to the instruments of Time. What can we say of this? I occurred. I am not…yet, I occurred.
In the beginning, I was frightened to death of going solo. Especially when doing live shows, I was so used to my brothers being next to me. It felt like the crowd was just looking at me, waiting for me to either mess up or prove myself.
They say that if you really want to kill yourself, no one can stop you. There are too many ways to do it. You can jump off a bridge or a building. You can hang yourself. You can crash a car or slit your wrists or swim out really far into the ocean until you drown. Sometimes I wonder why I’m not dead, if I really wanted to kill myself.
Forget it. Never explain; never apologize. You can either write posthumously or you can’t.
Remember where you came from, where you’re going, and why you created the mess you got yourself into in the first place. You’re going to die a horrible death, remember. It’s all good training, and you’ll enjoy it more if you keep the facts in mind. Take your dying with some seriousness, however. Laughing on the way to your execution is not generally understood by less-advanced life-forms, and they’ll call you crazy.
And now let us love and take that which is given us, and be happy; for in the grave there is no love and no warmth, nor any touching of the lips. Nothing perchance, or perchance but bitter memories of what might have been.
And that’s when I realize that, at the end, we’d all wish for the same thing. Just a little more time.
To lose someone you love is the very worst thing in the world. It creates an invisible hole that you feel you are falling down and will never end. People you love make the world real and solid and when they suddenly go away forever, nothing feels solid any more.
I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? “For beauty,” I replied. “And I for truth,—the two are one; We brethren are,” he said. And so, as kinsmen met a night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names.
Sadness and boredom were more bearable than the effort of living a normal life. Perhaps the idea of death began to hover over her during that period, as a kind of higher order of lassitude in which she would not have to move the blood in her veins or the air in her lungs; her repose would be absolute- not to think, not to feel, not to be.
But some part of him realized, even as he fought to break free from Lupin, that Sirius had never kept him waiting before. . . . Sirius had risked everything, always, to see Harry, to help him. . . . If Sirius was not reappearing out of that archway when Harry was yelling for him as though his life depended on it, the only possible explanation was that he could not come back. . . . That he really was . . .
Life would go out in a ‘fraction of a second’ (that was the phrase), but all night he had been realizing that time depends on clocks and the passage of light. There were no clocks and the light wouldn’t change. Nobody really knew how long a second of pain could be. It might last a whole purgatory–or for ever.
For in grief nothing stays put. One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?How often — will it be for always? — how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, I never realized my loss till this moment? The same leg is cut off time after time.
When I wake up I go through an abbreviated process of mourning all over again. Plainly, there’s something within me that’s ready to believe in life after death. And it’s not the least bit interested in whether there’s any sober evidence for it.