Best 2053 quotes in «dying quotes» category

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    Rather than you smoking a cigarette, the cigarette is really smoking you.

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    Respect your grief. For, if there is a wall within you that needs mending. It will mend it. --- Grief

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    Remember meditation is an active, deep remembrance, and that is discernment. Wherever you go, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, remember to utilize discernment so that you can hear and sense and feel the vibration of love rather than the vibration of illusion.

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    Rings and magazines; keychains and umbrellas; hats and glasses; rattles and radios. They looked like different things, but Ralph thought they were really all the same thing: the faint, sorrowing voices of people who had found themselves written out of the script in the middle of the second act while they were still learning their lines for the third, people who had been unceremoniously hauled off before their work was done or their obligations fulfilled, people whose only crime had been to be born in the Random... and to have caught the eye of the madman with the rusty scalpel.

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    Reading Aloud to My Father I chose the book haphazard from the shelf, but with Nabokov's first sentence I knew it wasn't the thing to read to a dying man: The cradle rocks above an abyss, it began, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness. The words disturbed both of us immediately, and I stopped. With music it was the same -- Chopin's Piano Concerto — he asked me to turn it off. He ceased eating, and drank little, while the tumors briskly appropriated what was left of him. But to return to the cradle rocking. I think Nabokov had it wrong. This is the abyss. That's why babies howl at birth, and why the dying so often reach for something only they can apprehend. At the end they don't want their hands to be under the covers, and if you should put your hand on theirs in a tentative gesture of solidarity, they'll pull the hand free; and you must honor that desire, and let them pull it free.

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    Satisfaction doesn't come from needs and desires or fulfilling them, it comes from being yourself, being true.

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    Right around the time he hits his middle forties, a man starts giving serious thought to dying well. In his sleep, in his own bed, or in the course of a street fight meant to settle something meaningful. His end doesn't have to be poignant, just devoid of dignity. You wouldn't think that would be too much to ask. But how a man leaves this world, much like the way he comes into it, is almost never his own call to make, so evil men die on satin sheets in 400-dollar-a-night hotel rooms, while good ones breathe their last lying face down in cold, dark alleyways, their bodies growing stiff and blue on beds of rain-soaked newspaper.

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    Rolling flat onto his back, Drake shuddered. Then he inhaled deeply. He stared up at the night sky. "We're going to win," he said, his voice calmer, less strained. "This is nothing. Keep going. They can't stop us. Jason, give Rachel the necklace. Tell her . . . tell her I'm sorry. Tell her . . . I wanted . . . to show her . . . my little valley. Tell her I tried." His voice was growing weak. Farfalee smoothed a hand over his brow. "Shhh," she whispered. "Be still, Drake. You can rest now. You did it. Rest. We'll take it from here." "Failie," he whispered, his hand twitching toward the back of his neck with little jerks. "Where's my seed?" His head tipped sideways. The breath went out of him.

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    Seven billion who need to be kept happy, and docile, until the end. How do you do that? What's the best way to calm down a scared kid, get them to go back to sleep? Tell them a story. Some shit about Jesus or whatever.

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    She began saying her prayers, but that was not going to save her or anyone in the building from the virus that spread quickly from floor to floor.

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    She fed him scraps from her ragbag because words were all that were left now. Perhaps he could use them to pay the ferryman. Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold. The world is charged with the grandeur of God. Full fathom five thy father lies. Little lamb, who made thee? Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie. On that best portion of a good man's life, his little nameless unremembered acts of kindness and of love. Farther and farther, all the birds of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire. The air rippled and shimmered. Time narrowed to a pinpoint. It was about to happen. Because the Holy Ghost over the bent world broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

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    She's hiding and no one else sees. She's dying and no one else notices.

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    Sex doesn't satisfy for a lifetime, the more you have it, the more you want it. And the more you have it, the more you die out.

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    Se quedó quieto, observando, aspirando el olor de la muerte. El cuello de Bernie estaba muy delgado, pero los lóbulos de las orejas, que ya habían alcanzado un tamaño enorme, eran grandes y carnosos. El cuerpo que yacía en aquella cama de hospital no debería pertenecer al padre que Joshua conocía. ¿Adónde había ido a parar el verdadero Bernie?

    • dying quotes
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    Some are in tune with the swanky, but not in tune with themselves. Their desire has become the desire of the others ('''Buying now. Dying later''')

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    Sollte die Freiheit zu streben, die uns die Götter in allen Umständen des Lebens gelassen haben, sollte diese ein Mensch dem andern verkümmern können?

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    Some people live just looking for someone to die for.

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    Some days I feel like I will die for them. Some days, with them.

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    So, Kurt Cobain kills himself at 27 and becomes a legend. People like that are one in a million. I'm just a normal human being. I agonize and suffer, but I also laugh all the time. People all die someday and disappear as if they never existed, but that's natural. I though I wasn't afraid of dying. No, NOBODY is actually afraid of dying itself. The pain of suffering lasts for an instant. What truly agonizes me... Is the thought of your crying face from far far across the entire galaxy. You were always prettiest when you smiled.

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    Sometimes the dying live more fiercely and wisely than the rest of us. (146)

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    Sometimes the fog in his eyes would clear, that fog caused by the pain and the killers of pain, and when it cleared, I saw regret and fear in those eyes swimming with tears and I was convinced that this was it, this was the end, this was surely the end.

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    Sometimes we grieve the living more than the dead.

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    Spiritual practice is allowing the temple (your body) to be full of light and to live life as a total celebration.

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    Spring had been the season for dying in the old days. Invalids who had struggled through the dark comfort of winter took fright as the night receded.

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    Supermarkets this large and clean and modern are a revelation to me. I spent my life in small steamy delicatessens with slanted display cabinets full of trays that hold soft wet lumpy matter in pale colours. High enough cabinets so you had to stand on tiptoes to give your order. Shouts, accents. In cities no one notices specific dying. Dying is a quality of the air. It's everywhere and nowhere. Men shout as they die to be noticed, remembered for a second or two. To die in an apartment instead of a house can depress the soul, I would imagine, for several lives to come. In a town there are houses, plants in bay windows. People notice dying better. The dead have faces, automobiles. If you don't know a name you know a street name, a dog's name. 'He drove an orange Mazda.' You know a couple of useless things about a person that become major facts of identification and cosmic placement when he dies suddenly, after a short illness, in his own bed, with a comforter and matching pillows, on a rainy Wednesday afternoon, feverish, a little congested in the sinuses and chest, thinking about his dry cleaning.

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    Sometimes, I think, that in the mornings when you first wake up, every thing that happened in the previous day rushes through our mind so fast, we, A: Don't realize it. B: Become more tired, die a little inside, and become groggy. Since everyday, we die a little inside we age closer and closer to death. We constantly grow older, and we're constantly dying. Therefore, don't wake me up early, or I'll take it that you wanted to kill me.

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    Suppressing the fear of death makes it all the stronger. The point is only to know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that "I" and all other "things" now present will vanish, until this knowledge compels you to release them - to know it now as surely as if you had just fallen off the rim of the Grand Canyon. Indeed you were kicked off the edge of a precipice when you were born, and it's no help to cling to the rocks falling with you. If you are afraid of death, be afraid. The point is to get with it, to let it take over - fear, ghosts, pains, transience, dissolution, and all.

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    Ted," he said, "when all this started, I asked myself, 'Am I going to withdraw from the world, like most people do, or am I going to live?" I decided I'm going to live-or at least try to live-the way I want, with dignity, with courage, with humor, with composure.

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    Ted thought: I am probably not dying but I am scared and alone and I don't like this.

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    Tell yourselves whatever you’d like, but I’m afraid it doesn’t make it true,” Mearth sighed, beginning to look impatient. “Step aside Mandy, I have to remediate him, otherwise you’ll find yourself in a whole mess of trouble.” “You can’t do this, it’s wrong,” Mandy insisted. “You don’t have a choice, Mandy! Either you let his life compromise the lives of everybody else in the world, or you let me remediate him and get it over with,” Mearth icily declared. “…Do what she says, Mandy Valems….” Alecto added, standing up and staring with glazed eyes at Mearth. “I can’t,” said Mandy. “…Go away!” Alecto shouted at her suddenly, glaring with narrowed eyes, speaking in a voice that hardly sounded like his own. “Get out of here, Mandy Valems! I hate you, I want you to leave me alone! Go home and don’t ever come back here!” “I….” Mandy started, looking totally shocked. “I said I hate you, don’t you understand anything? Go away, get out of here!” Alecto repeated menacingly, stepping forward in a threatening manner. He looked like a mad dog, shivering as he chased her away from his site. She tearfully took off running, seeming both shocked and horrified, and he watched her leave for a moment with a blank expression, his dark eyes hollow. He looked like he was going to black out, but Mearth walked quickly towards him, for once not smiling at all. If it weren’t for her eyes, she would’ve looked like a person. “That was very cruel of you to do, Sydney Tar Ponds. I thought you loved her,” she disappointedly exclaimed. “I do love her, she’s my friend, and that’s why I said that stuff to her,” Alecto replied forlornly. “None of it’s true, I don’t hate her at all… but I know what’s going to happen and I don’t want her to see it, so I lied to her and told her I hated her… can you explain to her after… why I said all that to her?

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    That’s my dream. It’s always the same. Always. Every little detail. And every time I have it, it’s just as scary as the last. (…) It’s so real, I feel as if I’ve already died hundreds of times.

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    That’s the hope, isn’t it? To see your family in your time of dying.

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    The activity of loving kindness is the bridge that allows you to slowly, slowly realise the wisdom and perfection of this moment.

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    The Beloved is Always There, Actively Seeking You.

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    The boxes that are supposed to help us understand one another ultimately wedge us further apart. Even worse is that we rage against the artificial divisions the boxes create, claim that we’re more complex and complicated than how we’re defined by others, and then turn around and stuff the next person we meet into one and tape the lid shut. And then, as if the indignity of life isn’t enough, when a person dies, we cram what’s left of them into one final box for eternity.

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    The circumstances of our lives are pieces of a larger scheme in the puzzle of life, and in His Perfect Wisdom, the pieces fit.

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    The dead are immune from our prison of Time. The distance between the living and dead may be vast, but the space of Time the dead experience when they are reunited with their loved ones is only paper-thin.

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    Sometimes I wonder if other people think about death - frequently, or just in general. I wonder if they think about it casually, like they’re thinking of the weather, or if they think of it lying awake at night, haunted by their own thoughts. I wonder… if they do think about it, do they ever think about their own death - the when, the how?

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    The beauty of death is that it is a constant reminder of the limited time we spend here in this unique life on Earth. It is the ongoing wakeup call that reminds us to be joyous, to laugh, to love, to be compassionate and grateful, and most of all – to forgive.

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    The cancer set into her bones and whittled her down to nothing. The weariness of the world and the weight in her heart laid her to rest in January.

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    The cost of living is increasing arithmetically but the cost of "Dying" is increasing exponentially.......

    • dying quotes
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    The dead do not need aspirin or sorrow, I suppose. but they might need rain. not shoes but a place to walk. not cigarettes, they tell us, but a place to burn. or we're told: space and a place to fly might be the same. the dead don't need me. nor do the living. but the dead might need each other. in fact, the dead might need everything we need and we need so much if we only knew what it was. it is probably everything and we will all probably die trying to get it or die because we don't get it. I hope you will understand when I am dead I got as much as possible.

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    The death of a loved one is one of the worst experiences that life has to offer and yet it’s unavoidable, the only alternative being never loving in the first place. Life is so feeble, its flame extinguished as easily as blowing out a candle. All it takes is a misplaced step or disease, life eventually takes its course and the destination is always death.

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    The Divine has created this moment in time. It is a very powerful moment, where there is only one way and that way is that you completely let go. Completely let go of what is known, what is safe, and move into the space of beauty.

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    The dead never truly die. They simply change form.

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    The day you are born is the day you start dying

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    ...the existential paradox we all experience; we feel that we are immortal, yet we know that we will die.

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    The graveyard is the everlasting home of every man.

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    The greatest lesson I have learned in life is that life is worth dying for.

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    The easiest way to forget about the people who are dying in wars right now is to close our eyes and ears! And this is also the ugliest and the vilest way!