Best 9776 quotes in «death quotes» category

I could simply kill you now, get it over with, who would know the difference? I could easily kick you in, stove you under, for all those times, mean on gin, you rammed words into my belly. (p. 52)

I could try composing wonderful musical works, or day-long entertainment epics, but what would that do? Give people pleasure? My wiping this table gives me pleasure. And people come to a clean table, which gives them pleasure. And anyway" - the man laughed - "people die; stars die; universes die. What is any achievement, however great it was, once time itself is dead? Of course, if all I did was wipe tables, then of course it would seem a mean and despicable waste of my huge intellectual potential. But because I choose to do it, it gives me pleasure. And," the man said with a smile, "it's a good way of meeting people. So where are you from, anyway?

I crawled over the mountain of death, Watching the corpses roll down like the stones. Searching for the light which everyone always spoke of. I fought the wolves and also the death, and knocked the door, which already had a thousand handprints, soaked with blood. The door opened finally and I saw the light, which hit me in the heart and pushed me down the steep. I fell into the never ending pit, watching others crawl up the mountain in the search of light.

Idag samlar vi skor och bilar, igår flintyxor. Utan tvivel har arkeologer funnit betydligt fler flintyxor än vad människan rimligtvis behövde. Jag tror att flintyxorna handlar om en längtan, kanske en rädsla. Om jag bara har tillräckligt många flintyxor, eller skor, eller ett nyrenoverat kök så kan inget ont hända. Det är den där dödsångesten igen. Den otäcka insikten att allt, allt, allt är förgängligt. Jag kommer att dö, men mina flintyxor kommer att finnas kvar. (Och de fanns ju kvar, eller hur? Men vad hjälper det?)

I could picture how Caprice was before we lost her. Dark hair, beautiful smile, intelligent hazel eyes, quick wit. Now gone. Just gone. Like a chessboard where suddenly one of the knights disappeared. A blank spot on the board of life that could never truly be replaced because no two things were alike, no two beings alike.

I’d be a fool to turn you away.” His smile was slow, and entirely too sexy. “And you certainly aren’t a fool.

I’d die a million times for you.

Ideas taken and planted into the grave do not germinate.

I’d fought alongside them in that battle, but up close, when they stood quietly watching us, they looked as beautiful as they looked unreal. The angels weren’t supposed to feel emotion, but they were weeping. All of them. Their tears stained their flawless faces like rain running in rivulets across stone.

I deliberately seek out the colors to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair and surprise.

I depart as air .... I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.

I’d felt this before, when my granddad was in the hospital before he died. We all camped out in the waiting room, eating our meals together, most of us sleeping in the chairs every night. Family from far-flung places would arrive at odd hours and we’d all stand and stretch, hug, get reacquainted, and pass the babies around. A faint, pale stream of beauty and joy flowed through the heavy sludge of fear and grief. It was kind of like those puddles of oil you see in parking lots that look ugly until the sun hits them and you see rainbows pulling together in the middle of the mess. And wasn’t that just how life usually felt—a confusing swirl of ugly and rainbow?

I destroyed that doll, hoping the sacrifice would somehow reverse time and bring my father back. I was a mad scientist and an angry child.

I’d give in to the grief but make sure I wasn’t loud enough to draw attention from those who think words will make me feel better.

I'd gotten someone killed. The price people seem to pay for crossing my path.

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.

I did not cry then or ever about Finney. I did not cry even when I stood watching him being lowered into his family’s straightlaced burial ground outside of Boston. I could not escape a feeling that this was my own funeral, and you do not cry in that case.

I did not know what breath meant until she died. It was everything that gave me quickness and life: it was thought, feeling, animation. Without it there was nothing.

I didn't get to God by effort or title, I got there by invitation. God can lift you quickly if you let Him. He really cares.

I did not see the hanging. They hanged him in front of the jail in Toronto, and You should have been there Grace, say the keepers, it would have been a lesson to you. I've pictured it many times, poor James standing with his hands tied and his neck bare, while they put the hood over his head like a kitten to be drowned. At least he had a priest with him, he was not all alone. If it had not been for Grace Marks, he told them, none of it would have happened. It was raining, and a huge crowd standing in the mud, some of them come from miles away. If my own death sentence had not been commuted at the last minute, they would have watched me hang with the same greedy pleasure. There were many women and ladies there; everyone wanted to stare, they wanted to breathe death in like fine perfume, and when I read of it I thought, If this is a lesson to me, what is it I am supposed to be learning?

I didn't come from a success lineage but I am so glad that my earthly lineage is not my final story because when I gave my life to Jesus twelve years back, God interrupted my story.

I didn’t know if his art was helping. But Moses’s pictures were like that, glorious and terrible. Glorious because they brought memory to life, terrible for the same reason. Time softens memories, sanding down the rough edges of death. But Moses’s pictures dripped with life and reminded us of our loss.

I didn't know that would be the last time I'd see him, his neck scar lit blue by the diner's neon marquee. To see that little comma again, to put my mouth there, let my shadow widen the scar until, at last, there was no scar to be seen at all, just a vast and equal dark sealed by my lips. A comma superimposed by a period the mouth so naturally makes. Isn't that the saddest thing in the world, Ma? A comma forced to be a period?

I didn't cry when they buried my father - I wouldn't let myself. I didn't cry when they buried my sister. On Thursday night, with my family asleep upstairs, my eyes filled as Agassi and Marcos Baghdatis played out the fifth set of their moving second-round match.

I didn't have enough other people in my life to cover the loss of this many people at once. I didn't have spare aunties or cousins or grandparents. I didn't have backup. I didn't have insurance to cover a loss like this.

I didn't hear the exact moment Sarren ended Zeke's life. I was just aware of his breathing, tagged at first, then seizing up, as if he could no longer gasp for her. And then, a long, agonizingly slow exhale, the last gulp departing his lungs, as Ezekiel's tortured breaths finally, irreversibly, stopped altogether. "Good night, sweet prince." Sarren crooned, a velvet whisper. The recording clicked off.

I did not want to die, but desperately wanted to be anywhere but there; the pain was unbearable. Yet in that vision, or whatever it was, I felt that the intertwined knots were the connections with the people we loved, and that nothing else could have kept us in this world.

I didn't want to die. I just found death soothing to think about.

I died on a bitter cold night. Beneath a black sky and a bruised winter moon, I tried to fly, hoping my arms might act as wings.

- I didn't seduce her! OK, I didn't know exactly what I was doing. It seemed like fun and then... well, THAT happened. - said Ronnie. - It wasn't intentional. I did it for shits and giggles, alright? We never had sex. She was mortified at the thought of losing her job, but I told her that I wouldn't tell anyone. - Well... you just did. - said Tyler. - You two aren't just "anyone". That's the difference. - said Ronnie and resumed his task... until his ears caught a disturbing row of cries for help. - What kind of language is that? - Tyler asked. - It's... Hindi. Urdu, to be specific. - Ronnie answered. - How the fuck do you know? - Tyler asked. - Just found it out. - answered Ronnie. - Well, where does that lead us? - asked Tyler once again. - Pakistan. - said Garret. - We're not going there saving Muslims from the clutches of radical Islam and fighting for human rights, are we? - said Tyler. - No, obviously. But if their lives are in danger, we'll help. Not because some non-governmental organisation is obsessed with political correctness and equal rights, but because they don't deserve to die just because some delusional maniac decided to play God with their fate. - said Ronnie.

I didn't tell him that the diagnosis came three months after I got my first period. Like: Congratulations! You're a woman. Now die.

I didn't know who to believe but one thing I do know: when a man is living many claim relationships that are hardly so and after he dies, well, then it's everybody's party.

I die with the dying light, yet shine brighter as the darkness approaches. Soon I’ll be whittled to bone and stripped clean through, nothing left but a skeleton on which to hang a hat. But have no fear, I look good in hats.

I die a little everyday, in trying to revive what I lost yesterday!

I died recently, and I am in no hurry to enjoy the experience again just yet.

I'd never understood why anyone would want to live forever. It had always seemed to me that death lent life a certain poignancy, a necessary tension.

I'd kill myself if I thought I was worth the effort.

I'd never felt more human than I did when my mother lay in bed, dying. This was not the frailty of a man who is said to be "only human," subject to a weakness or a vulnerability. This was a wave of sadness and loss that made me understand that I was a man expanded by grief.

I'd like to be a handsome corpse. At my funeral, I'd like people to look in my coffin and say, "Wow. He's so handsome when he's dead!" I guess it'd be kind of okay, too, if they made my books required reading in schools or something, but mostly, I just want to be the hottest cadaver in the graveyard.

I'd love to live forever except the person that made this game board has a tendency to occasionally knock some pieces off

I'd never really believed in terrorists before--I mean, I knew that in the abstract there were terrorists somewhere in the world, but they didn't really represent any risk to me. There were millions of ways that the world could kill me--starting with getting run down by a drunk burning his way down Valencia--that were infinitely more likely and immediate than terrorists. Terrorists kill a lot fewer people than bathroom falls and accidental electrocutions. Worrying about them always struck me as about as useful as worrying about getting hit by lightning.

I'd like to be a handsome corpse. At my funeral, I'd like people to look in my coffin and say, "Wow. He's so handsome when he's dead!" I guess it'd be kind of okay, too, if they made my books required reading in schools or something, but as far as leaving a legacy goes, I just want to be the hottest cadaver in the graveyard.

I do not fear of death because my world had lost it's colour and I had lost my happiness. But life goes on. So, I decided to cover the pain I suffer with a shiny,bright smile.I might look happy but you do not know what's going on inside. It's scary what a smile can hide, right ?

I do not know, not do I care to remember The time in which I knew distinctly that you were gone You fade in and out of memory Upon which I can not feign to touch Or feel How cruel to leave me With paper but no pen What a way to leave me You give me cups, but not water to fill them So they sit there Empty Your reflection Bouncing to and fro From every surface

I do not know…who turned me, your Grace.” His downcast gaze said it all: How terribly sad. For she had known all her life as a Vampire it was most…disgraceful to never know the one who turned you; that was where a Vampire could find a sense of great peace amidst the life that was the constant need for blood. She had only passed by these remarks, this cloud on her person for being ‘Princess of the Vampires,’ Dracula’s special child…

I do not ever remember to have trembled at a tale of superstition or to have feared the apparition of a spirit. Darkness had no effect upon my fancy, and a churchyard was to me merely the receptacle of bodies deprived of life, which, from being the seat of beauty and strength, had become food for the worm.

I do not know, nor do I care to remember The time in which I knew distinctly that you were gone You fade in and out of memory Upon which I can not feign to touch Or feel How cruel to leave me With paper but no pen What a way to leave me You give me cups, but not water to fill them So they sit there Empty Your reflection Bouncing to and fro From every surface

I do not fear death, for death transforms visionaries into martyrs; converts noble ideas into powerful movements.

I do not have any trust fund, I have always trusted God for all my funds.

I do not wish my anger and pain and fear about cancer to fossilize into yet another silence, nor to rob me of whatever strength can lie at the core of this experience, openly acknowledged and examined ... imposed silence about any area of our lives is a tool for separation and powerlessness.