Israel should not feel satisfaction at my son’s death, for he died on the battlefield, facing the conquerors as he wished, with a gun in his hand.
You think it’s so great to die and make everyone cry and carry on. Well it ain’t.
Life is the tragedy,’ she said bitterly. ‘You know how they categorize Shakespeare’s plays, right? If it ends with a wedding, it’s a comedy. And if it ends with a funeral, it’s a tragedy. So we’re all living tragedies, because we all end the same way, and it isn’t with a goddamn wedding.
I saw the years of my life spaced along a road in the form of telephone poles threaded together by wires. I counted one, two, three… nineteen telephone poles, and then the wires dangled into space, and try as I would, I couldn’t see a single pole beyond the nineteenth.
The ones that do support me and are cheering for me, man, I love them to death, because they could so easily be on the other end.
Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it, a jealous possessive love that grabs at what it can.
And death doesn’t wait for you when your rested and ready. It sneaks up on you when your exhausted and hungry and cold and so scared you can’t even see straight
Cause if you shoot a bullet someone dies. If you drop a bomb many die. You hit a woman, love dies. But if you say the F-word… nothing actually happens.
The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains.
Are we so made that we have to take death in small doses daily or we could not go on with the business of living?
If I should go before the rest of youBreak not a flower nor inscribe a stone, Nor when I’m gone speak in a Sunday voice But be the usual selves that I have known. Weep if you must, Parting is hell, But life goes on, So sing as well.
Afterwards, when it’s all over, you meet God. What do you say to God?
When graves are covered with stones, the dead can no longer get out. But the dead can’t go out anyway! What difference does it make whether they’re covered with soil or stones?
On the death of a friend, we should consider that the fates through confidence have devolved on us the task of a double living, that we have henceforth to fulfill the promise of our friend’s life also, in our own, to the world.
Don’t look forward to the day you stop suffering, because when it comes you’ll know you’re dead.
Charitably… I think… sometimes, perhaps, one must change or die. And, in the end, there were, perhaps, limits to how much he could let himself change.
What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas’d the moment life appear’d. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
Time was the most precious thing in the world to me, and I’d just given her all of it. Because I was falling for her. Because I cared for her. Because I wanted to give her something to remember me by, even if it would eventually fade like its namesake. Time… what an absolute horror-inducing word
Everything science has taught me strengthens my belief in the continuity of our spiritual existence after death. I believe in an immortal soul. Science has proved that nothing disintegrates into nothingness. Life and soul, therefore, cannot disintegrate into nothingness, and so are immortal.
And then I crawled into his unmade bed, wrapping myself in his comforter like a cocoon, surrounding myself with his smell. I took out my cannula so I could smell better, breathing him and out, the scent fading even as I lay there, my chest burning until I couldn’t distinguish among the pains.
When you have dogs, you witness their uncomplaining acceptance of suffering, their bright desire to make the most of life in spite of the limitations of age and disease, their calm awareness of the approaching end when their final hours come. They accept death with a grace that I hope I will one day be brave enough to muster.
Death, with its ancestral weight of terrors, is merely the abandonment of an unserviceable shell at the time the spiritis reintegrated into the unified energy of the cosmos. The end of life, like birth, is a stagein a voyage, and deserves the compassion we accord to its beginnings. There is absolutely no virtue in prolonging the heartbeat and tremors of a body beyond its natural span…
I don’t know if I believe in life after death so much as I believe that there is something out there.
All my life, I struggled to stretch my mind to the breaking point, until it began to creak, in order to create a great thought which might be able to give a new meaning to life, a new meaning to death, and to console mankind.
I’m interested in love and in death. Everything evolves from these things.
It’s okay to talk about it. Death is so normal, I don’t know why everyone gets so hung up about it. We all have to deal with it. Most people that you talk to have lost someone, but nobody talks about it.
If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.
Think. In a minute from now you could be saying, I risked death. I threw for life, and I won life. It is a very wonderful feeling. To have survived.
Can’t clean up after you anymore, baby brother, so don’t punk out. Make it count.
Death: THERE ARE BETTER THINGS IN THE WORLD THAN ALCOHOL, ALBERT.Albert: Oh, yes, sir. But alcohol sort of compensates for not getting them.
Grief is paradoxical: you know you must let go, and yet letting go cannot happen all at once. The literature of mourning enacts that dilemma; its solace lies in the ritual of remembering the dead and then saying, There is no solace, and also, This has been going on a long time.
I guess my game plan in ODI cricket is very set with the new ball and at the death. In Test cricket, you have to bowl longer and batsmen don’t have to score as quickly. But at the same time, as a bowler, you can bring in some aspects of one format to the other format.
Defoe says that there were a hundred thousand country fellows in his time ready to fight to the death against popery, without knowing whether popery was a man or a horse.
It was a hurting tune, resigned, a cry of heartache for all in the world that fell apart. As ash rose black against the brilliant sky, Fire’s fiddle cried out for the dead, and for the living who stay behind to say goodbye.
We owe our very lives to the soil, and, as William Bryant Logan said, “the bodies we give it back are not payment enough.” Though, presumably, they are a start.
Everything tends to make us believe that there exists a certain point of the mind at which life and death, the real and the imagined, past and future, the communicable and the incommunicable, high and low, cease to be perceived as contradictions.
If this continues, if this goes on, then when I die, your memories of me will be my greatest accomplishment. You memories will be my most lasting impressions.
I thought of you and how you love this beauty,And walking up the long beach all aloneI heard the waves breaking in measured thunderAs you and I once heard their monotone.Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond meThe cold and sparkling silver of the sea –We two will pass through death and ages lengthenBefore you hear that sound again with me.
I am so often moved by souls whose first concern is not for their own lost years, but for the grief their passing will cause to those they love. It’s more common than you might think. The most ordinary mortal bodies are housed by spectacular souls.
When the suicide arrived at the sky, the people there asked him: Why? He replied: Because no one admired me.
It’s true, I am afraid of dying. I am afraid of the world moving forward without me, of my absence going unnoticed, or worse, being some natural force propelling life on. Is it selfish? Am I such a bad person for dreaming of a world that ends when I do? I don’t mean the world ending with respect to me, but every set of eyes closing with mine.
Nearly all Americans felt they knew JFK intimately, his charm and wit regularly lighting up the television screen at home. This is why polls showed that millions of Americans took his assassination like a ‘death in the family.’
A flower bloomed already wilting. Beginning its life with an early ending.
But at a certain point we turn round, almost instinctively,and see that a gate has been bolted behind us, barring our way back (…)Then we understand that time is passing and that one day or another the road must come to an end.
If I knew I was going to die tomorrow,And Spring came the day after tomorrow,I would die peacefully, because it came the day after tomorrow.If that’s its time, when else should it come?I like it that everything is real and everything is right;And I like that it would be like this even if I didn’t like it.And so, if I die now, I die peacefullyBecause everything is real and everything is right.
When I die,’ I said to my friend, ‘I’m not going to be embalmed. I’m going to be dipped.’ Milk chocolate or bittersweet was the immediate concern.
Tragic deaths aren’t avoidable. That’s what Ezra said outside Sam’s wake, and even though–to use Foster’s phrasing–I didn’t know anything about anything, I felt in this moment that Ezra was wrong. What often makes something tragic is that it can be avoided.
Only one thing mattered: this was not a Horcrux. Dumbledore had weakened himself by drinking that horrible potion for nothing. Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand and his eyes burned with tears as behind him Fang began to howl.
Because there is no glory in illness. There is no meaning to it. There is no honor in dying of.
Ever peaceful be you slumberThough your days were few in numberOn this earth-spite took its toll-Yet shall heaven have your soulWith pure love we did regard youFor your loved one did we guard youBut you came not to the groomOnly to a chill dark tomb
If I’m to die a mortal, why shouldn’t the same fate be given to all, no matter how long they’ve lived or how important they think they are? All things must eventually come to an end.
Doing linear scans over an associative array is like trying to club someone to death with a loaded Uzi.
After us they’ll fly in hot air balloons, coat styles will change, perhaps they’ll discover a sixth sense and cultivate it, but life will remain the same, a hard life full of secrets, but happy. And a thousand years from now man will still be sighing, Oh! Life is so hard! and will still, like now, be afraid of death and not want to die.
I have six brothers, and in the past I’ve done quite a few girlie films, like ‘Wild Child’ and ‘Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging’ – so when they’ve been to those, they’ve been incredibly embarrassed. They won’t be embarrassed going to see ‘Black Death’ – I reckon they’re going to love it.
I’ll follow you, even to death—but I won’t live with you any more.
…paradise is a world where everythingis a sanctuary & nothing is a gun…
If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn’t be filled?