Some fail to bear in mind that everyone is sentenced to death. Death is a treacherous virus that strikes randomly. The only truth is that nobody is going to make it out alive. We are all living on probation and our expiry date is indefinite. ( “Living on probation” )
It reminds me that no embrace will ever feel the same again, because no one will ever be like her again, because she’s gone. She’s gone, and crying feels so useless, so stupid, but it’s all I can do.
Isn’t life,’ she stammered, ‘isn’t life–‘ But what life was she couldn’t explain. No matter. He quite understood.’Isn’t it, darling?’ said Laurie.
Glenn used to say the reason you can’t really imagine yourself being dead was that as soon as you say, ‘I’ll be dead,’ you’ve said the word I, and so you’re still alive inside the sentence. And that’s how people got the idea of the immortality of the soul – it was a consequence of grammar.
She died in my arms, saying, I don’t want to die. That is what death is like. It doesn’t matter what uniforms the soldiers are wearing. It doesn’t matter how good the weapons are. I thought if everyone could see what I saw, we would never have war anymore.
Everyone was eating, talking softly, glancing at me, hugging me, eating. It was as if someone had turned the volume down. Everything looked normal, but the sound was muted. Death did this, set all this weirdness in motion, made people appear out of nowhere carrying casseroles, saying ‘I’m sorry’ over and over, death muffled their voices.
It is said that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. That is true, it’s called Life.
The cries of the dead are terrible indeed; you should try not to hear them.
It took me 40 years to write my first book. When I was a child, I was encouraged to go to school. I was not encouraged to follow the career of a writer because my parents thought that I was going to starve to death.
Contemplation of life after retirement and life after death can help you deal with contemporary challenges.
To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever.
If there is nothing else there is this: to be inundated, consumed.
It comes with faith, for with complete faith there is no fear of what faces you in life or death.
Funerals are for the living. If we have not done for the dead while they were yet in flesh, it is too late; let the matter pass at the grave. Day by day we should live for those who are to die; and live so that we may die for those who are to live. Funerals are for the living.
One of the grubby truths about a loss is that you don’t just mourn the dead person, you mourn the person you got to be when the lost one was alive. This loss might even be what affects you most.
Contrary to what you may assume, I am not a pessimist but an indifferentist- that is, I don’t make the mistake of thinking that the… cosmos… gives a damn one way or the other about the especial wants and ultimate welfare of mosquitoes, rats, lice, dogs, men, horses, pterodactyls, trees, fungi, dodos, or other forms of biological energy.
If you live each day as it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right
No drowning man can know which dropOf water his last breath did stop
We cannot, after all, judge a biography by its length, by the number of pages in it; we must judge by the richness of the contents…Sometimes the ‘unfinisheds’ are among the most beautiful symphonies.
I was discovering that the most precious gift someone can give us is time, because what gives time its value is death.
Let us beware of saying that death is the opposite of life. The living being is only a species of the dead, and a very rare species.
I’m going to get ‘I’M NOT FUCKING DEAD’ tattooed on my chest.That will become inaccurate at some point, Omar pointed out.
Death cannot be struggled against, brother. It ever arrives, defiant of every hiding place, of every frantic attempt to escape. Death is every mortal’s shadow, his true shadow, and time is its servant, spinning that shadow slowly round, until what stretched before one now stretched before him.
Life rises out of death, death rises out of life; in being opposite they yearn to each other, they give birth to each other and are forever reborn. And with them, all is reborn, the flower of the apple tree, the light of the stars. In life is death. In death is rebirth. What then is life without death? Life unchanging, everlasting, eternal?-What is it but death-death without rebirth?
The body tries to stop the mind from killing itself, no matter the cost. It is only the lack of strength, the fatigue that lets the jumpers fall at last.
Here lies one from a distant star, but the soil is not alien to him, for in death he belongs to the universe.
… she’s worried more about mail being late than perceiving a death alarm.
Ahmed looked shocked, his hands digging into my arms. ‘But you love him,’ he said softly. ‘You love him, and you should save him. That’ what people do with those they love, Amani — they save them.’ No iT wasn’t. Sam had taught me that. Great love stories ended in death. All stories ended in death sooner or later. Ours was ending sooner.
For years I’d understood that publishing in paperback was the kiss of death.
You can’t have living without dying. So you can’t call it living, what we got. We just are, we just be, like rocks beside the road.
When you look at death, it makes you understand the importance of the moment when you have life and death in front of you, and you witness seeing someone deteriorating in front of you – it’s an overwhelming experience. If you don’t learn from that, I don’t know what else you’re gonna learn.
From looking at your neighbor and realizing his true significance, and that he will die, pity and compassion will arise in you for him and finally you will love him.
Death was not the scariest thing out there; no, the denial of it could be far worse.
It’s easier to die than to move … at least for the Other Side you don’t need trunks.
If they tell you that she died of sleeping pills you must know that she died of a wasting grief, of a slow bleeding at the soul.
Sleep would be so welcome. A warm blanket of black to erase everything else. Sleep without dreams. I’ve heard people talk about the sleep of the dead. Is that what death would feel like? The nicest, warmest, heaviest never-ending nap? If that’s what it’s like, I wouldn’t mind. If that’s what dying is like, I wouldn’t mind that at all.
Warmblood now a bloodborne death,Will rob your body of it’s breathMark your skin and seal your fate The Underland becomes a plate
Erik, Erik! I saved your life! Remember? You were scentenced to death! But for me you would be dead by now.
The past attracts me, the present frightens me, because the future is death.
Because you can only die once but you can suffer forever.
This was how an enemy should be dealt with: with a dagger, not a declaration.
Dying Speech of an Old PhilosopherI strove with none, for none was worth my strife.Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art:I warm’d both hands before the fire of life;It sinks; and I am ready to depart.
…the longer I think about it the more it seems to me that we who are still alive are unreal in the eyes of the dead, that only occasionally, in certain lights and atmospheric conditions, do we appear in their field of vision.
You must know that I am made of death, from head to foot, and it is a corpse who loves you and adores you and will never, never leave you!
There was a lot they didn’t tell you about death, she had discovered, and one of the biggies was how long it took the ones you loved most to die in your heart.
Not ignorance, but ignorance of ignorance, is the death of knowledge.
I have been waiting for death all my life. I do not mean that I actively wish to die, just that I do not really want to be alive.
We each owe a death, there are no exceptions, I know that, but sometimes, oh God, the Green Mile is so long.
In the end, we all lose it. Remember that. In the end, we own nothing.
The kiss. Oh, the kiss. What a perfect, unnerving, luscious kiss. He made me feel unhinged . . . like he could take me apart and put me back together again and again.
Male privilege and entitlement are dying a very painful death; no one gives up power without a struggle.
Whilst the wolflets bayed, A grave was made, And then with the strokes of a silver spade, It was filled to make a mound. And for two cold days and three long nights, The father tended that holy plot; And stayed by where his wife was laid, In the grave within the ground.
The world is paralyzed, and humanity is in quarantine. It is a strange symmetry that I was born in one pandemic and will die during another.
YOU’RE ONLY PUTTING OFF THE INEVITABLE, he said.That’s what being alive is all about.
One of the first signs of the beginnings of understanding is the wish to die. This life appears unbearable, another unattainable. One is no longer ashamed of wanting to die; one asks to be moved from the old cell, which one hates, to a new one, which one will only in time come to hate.
Somebody, said Jacques, your father or mine, should have told us that not many people have ever died of love. But multitudes have perished, and are perishing every hour–and in the oddest places!–for the lack of it.
The South-wind bringsLife, sunshine and desire,And on every mount and meadowBreathes aromatic fire;But over the dead he has no power,The lost, the lost, he cannot restore;And, looking over the hills, I mournThe darling who shall not return.
A society that doesn’t know any longer how to observe every death with proper rituals, that does not know that death is not the end, but only part of the journey, has lost its way, has had the very heart of its humanity torn out.
Too pissed off to care, Aurelia interrupted him. No, I will not wait just one moment! Piercing him with her best scary stare, she said, It surprises me that no one has pointed out your glaringly obvious agenda, so let me be the first.
Conner hadn’t liked leaving the gravesite with his father still not buried. But he’d learned from his grandmother’s funeral that you have to go. It’s expected. Nobody hangs around the cemetary. Grief—a little or a lot—is tucked into your pocket and carried away.
Death is the only wise advisor that we have. Whenever you feel, as you always do, that everything is going wrong and you’re about to be annihilated, turn to your death and ask if that is so. Your death will tell you that you’re wrong; that nothing really matters outside its touch. Your death will tell you, ‘I haven’t touched you yet.