Best 9776 quotes in «death quotes» category

Modern man is drinking and drugging himself out of awarness, or he spends his time shopping, which is the same thing. As awarness calls for types of heroic dedication that his culture no longer provides for him, society contrives to help him forget. In the mysterious way in which life is given to us in evolution on this planet, it pushes in the direction of its own expansion. We don’t understand it simply because we don’t know the purpose of creation; we only feel life straining in ourselves and see it thrashing others about as they devour each other. Life seeks to expand in an unknown direction for unknown reasons. What are we to make of creation in which routine activity is for organisms to be tearing others apart with teeth of all types - biting, grinding flesh, plant stalks, bones between molars, pushing the pulp greedily down the gullet with delight, incorporating its essence into one’s own organization, and then excreting with foul stench and gasses residue. Everyone reaching out to incorporate others who are edible to him. The mosquitoes bloating themselves on blood, the maggots, the killer-bees attacking with a fury and a demonism, sharks continuing to tear and swallow while their own innards are being torn out - not to mention the daily dismemberment and slaughter in “natural” accidents of all types: an earthquake buries alive 70 thousand bodies in Peru, a tidal wave washes over a quarter of a million in the Indian Ocean. Creation is a nightmare spectacular taking place on a planet that has been soaked for hundreds of millions of years in the blood of all creatures. The soberest conclusion that we could make about what has actually been taking place on the planet about three billion years is that it is being turned into a vast pit of fertilizer. But the sun distracts our attention, always baking the blood dry, making things grow over it, and with its warmth giving the hope that comes with the organism’s comfort and expansiveness.

Mom always said I was born to sit in the electric chair, but I'm proving her wrong. I'm going to die on my knees, begging for my life.

Modern architecture has the potential to send you to an early grave.

Moksha – the liberation form, the web of maya be, Freedom from the cycles of birth and death clearly; - 33 -

Molecules form and dissolve, returning to the primordial soup of atoms. But consciousness survives the death of the molecules on which it rides. What was once a bundle of energy in a sunbeam turns into a leaf, only to fall and change again into soil. The change of state crosses many boundaries. A sunbeam is invisible, whereas leaves and soil are visible.A leaf is alive and growing,whereas sunbeams aren't.the colors of light, leaf, and soil are different, and so on. But all these transformations exist as constructs of the mind.The actual energy present in the sunbeam experiences no change at all.

Modern life seems set up so that we can avoid loneliness at all costs, but maybe it's worthwhile to face it occasionally. The further we push aloneness away, the less are we able to cope with it, and the more terrifying it gets. Some philosophers believe that loneliness is the only true feeling there is. We live orphaned on a tiny rock in the immense vastness of space, with no hint of even the simplest form of life anywhere around us for billions upon billions of miles, alone beyond all imagining. We live locked in our own heads and can never entirely know the experience of another person. Even if we're surrounded by family and friends, we journey into death completely alone.

Mom hadn't met Ramon; her advocacy was more arm's length - petitions, the website, letter writing, meetings with politicians. Her friend Hanna had formed a close friendship with Ramon though, visiting him as often as she could. Hanna told me that Ramon's greatest regret was that he wouldn't get to see his daughter grow up. And Jeremy's dad, who had that opportunity, was just throwing it away. It made me furious, and I couldn't let it go.

Mohammad never assigned himself a status more than a common man and a messenger of God. People had faith in him when he was surrounded by poverty and adversity and trusted him while he was the ruler of a great Empire. He was a man of spotless character who always had confidence in himself and in God's help. No aspect of his life remained hidden nor was his death a mysterious event.

MOM Wholeheartedly, She loved me- And inspired me- With transcending devotion. It was a blessing- To have been her son, To have been loved- Without conditions. Her words of wisdom- Opened my eyes- To the world- And to myself. By seeing the best in me, She empowered me. By believing in me, She transformed me. She grew old- And floated away, But her love remains standing- Eternally by my side.

Mom Our empty home reminds Me of you My sleepless nights Are full of your memories Mom I want to cry Till my tears run dry Mom I need you back At least for a little while

Moonlight bounces tears across the tops of trees, switch blade shadows at our throats, where life’s lacerations approach for romance.

Monsters cut children open and call it progress. Monsters murder entire groups of people without blinking but get upset when they have to wash human ash from their garden strawberries. Monsters are the ones who watch other people do these things and do nothing to stop it.

Monsieur Josserand died very quietly - a victim of his own honesty. He had lived a useless life, and he went off, worthy to the last, weary of all the petty things in life, done to death by the heartless conduct of the only human beings that he had ever loved.

More likely, they would just cease to exist." "That's death." "No, it's different. Death leaves a corps.

More people have died in the name of religion than any other cause on earth. Is massacring God's creations really serving God - or the devil? And what father would want to see his children constantly divided and fighting? What God would allow a single human life to be sacrificed for monetary gain? Again, the Creator or the devil?

Morbidity and Mortality Rounds Forgive me, body before me, for this. Forgive me for my bumbling hands, unschooled in how to touch: I meant to understand what fever was, not love. Forgive me for my stare, but when I look at you, I see myself laid bare. Forgive me, body, for what seems like calculation when I take a breath before I cut you with my knife, because the cancer has to be removed. Forgive me for not telling you, but I’m no poet. Please forgive me, please. Forgive my gloves, my callous greeting, my unease— you must not realize I just met death again. Forgive me if I say he looked impatient. Please, forgive me my despair, which once seemed more like recompense. Forgive my greed, forgive me for not having more to give you than this bitter pill. Forgive: for this apology, too late, for those like me whose crimes might seem innocuous and yet whose cruelty was obvious. Forgive us for these sins. Forgive me, please, for my confusing heart that sounds so much like yours. Forgive me for the night, when I sleep too, beside you under the same moon. Forgive me for my dreams, for my rough knees, for giving up too soon. Forgive me, please, for losing you, unable to forgive.

More commonly suffering breaks people, crushes them, and is simply unilluminating. You see how gruesomely human beings are destroyed by pain, when they have the added torment of losing their humanity first, so that their death is a total defeat...

More than a hygenic method of disposing of the dead, cremation enabled lovers and comrades to be mingled together for eternity: The ashes of Domitian were mingled with those of Julia; of Achilles with those of Patroclus; All Urnes contained not single ashes; Without confused burnings they affectionately compounded their bones; passionately endeavouring to continue their living Unions. And when distance of death denied such conjunctions, unsatisfied affections concieved some satisfaction to be neighbours in the grave, to lye Urne by Urne, and touch but in their names.

More than death, one fears the utter isolation that accompanies it. We try to go through life two by two, but each one of us must die alone- no one can die our death with us or for us. The shunning of the dying by the living prefigures final absolute abandonment

Mortality is a hard thing to face. 'That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger.' That's as maybe. But that which does kill us, kills us, and ain't that a bitch...How do you make sense of your life? Signal to noise: what's signal? What's noise?

Morituri te salutant!

...[M]ortals are strange when people die. The more we hated or loved someone, the more we want to remember them. .... When people die, especially in a shocking, violent, or unexpected way, they tend to forgive, or at least forget, what angered them. It’s a blessing of Persephone. She doesn’t like it when people talk ill of the dead, being Queen of the Underworld and everything. It is also why we bring flowers for the dead.

Most human beings would have never been pained by the death of a human being if they had never seen a human being or pretending to be pained by that.

Mostly I couldn't bear... the paltry notion that memory was all that eternal life really meant, and I spent too much time wondering where people got the fortitude or delusion to keep on moving past the static dead.

Most of life is just a preparation for getting ready to be dead for a very long period of time.

Most of the time, I do not want to die. But I would like to have the means of death within my grasp. I want to feel the luxury of choice, to know the answer to “How do I bear this?” need not always be “Endure.

Most of us cling to life as if our existence were a result of our deed or choice.

Most of [the alchemists] were poor; many all but unknown in their own time, many died and saw no fruit of their labours… Of some the very names are forgotten. But though their names be dead, their works live, and grow and spread over ever fresh generations of youth, showing them fresh steps towards that temple of wisdom which is the knowledge of things as they are.

Most of the dreams that have suffered to death were murdered by their own owners.

Most of us are naturally inclined to struggle against the restrictions our friends and family impose upon us, but if we are so unfortunate as to lose a loved one, what a difference then! Then the restriction becomes a sacred trust.

Most people are not really scared of death. They are merely terrified of being taken to a mortuary and/or being buried or cremated and/or being forgotten.

Most people don't understand life till they die and they don't understand death because they have never lived.

Most of us will die twice; Once when we take our last breath, and again when the world forgets your name.

Most people coming out of a war feel lost and resentful. What had been a minute-to-minute confrontation with yourself, your struggle with what courage you have against discomfort, at the least, and death at the other end, ties you to the people you have known in the war and makes, for a time, all others seem alien and frivolous. Friends are glad to see you again, but you know immediately that most of them have put you to one side, and while it is easy enough to say that you should have known that before, most of us don't, and it is painful. You are face to face with what will happen to you after death.

Most people do not mind dying, as long as that does not happen today.

Most people do not realize that they are one car crash away from death.

Most people are ennobled by the actual presence of death. But how long do you suppose this nobility will last in him?

Most people are so mind-bogglingly aggravating that it's impossible to overreact to them, even if that means killing yourself.

Most people would probably call me a ghost. I am, after all, dead. But I don't think of myself that way. It wasn't so long ago that I was alive, you see. I was only eighteen. I had my whole life in front of me. Now I suppose you could say I have all of eternity before me. I'm not sure exactly what that means yet. I'm told everything's going to be fine. But I have to wonder what I would have done with my life, who I might have been. That's what saddens me most about dying--that I'll never know.

Mother, death, love -- everyone shares, unequally, those three poles of fascination.

Most smart people tend to feel queasy when the conversation turns to things like "certain death" and "total failure" and the idea of a "doomed generation." But not me. I am comfortable with these themes. There is nothing new about them, except when they come all at once. Any conversation that can make smart people confront a mix of Death, Doom, and Failure with a straight face is probably worth listening in on. They don't come around real often, and when they do it almost always means that at least two of the people doing the talking are in very serious trouble.

Mourning leads not to resurrection.

Mourning was really for the living.

Mr. Asher, you can resist who you are for only so long. Finally, you just decide to go with fate.

Mr. Lisbon knew his parental and neighborly duty entailed putting the retainer in a Ziploc bag, calling the Kriegers, and telling them their expensive orthodontal device was in safe keeping. Acts like theses -- simple, humane, conscientious, forgiving -- held life together. Only a few days earlier he would have been able to perform them. But now he took the retainer and dropped it in the toiler. He pressed the handle. The retainer, jostled int he surge, disappeared down the porcelain throat, and, when waters abated, floated triumphantly, mockingly, out, Mr. Lisbon waited for the tank to refill and flushed again, but the same thing happened. The replica of the boy's mouth clung to the white slope.

Much as oblivion is the death of sorrow So death is life's forgetfulness

Muhammad adhered meticulously to the charter he forged for Medina, which - grounded as it was in the Quranic injunction, "Let there be no compulsion in religion" (2:256) - is arguably the first mandate for religious tolerance in human history.

Mungu ni mkubwa kuliko jumla ya matatizo yote na vitu vyote alivyoviumba na ana uwezo wa kufanya kila kitu alichosema atafanya bila kupunguza au kuongeza chochote. Usidanganywe na matatizo. Amka, kabla kifo hakijakufika.

Murderers — serving life sentences — were caring for their dying fellow inmates. Washing their bed-sore covered bodies, changing their diapers, holding their hands while they took their last breath. It was the other side of death, not the one at the end of a sudden muzzle flash, but the slow and wrenching kind, leaving plenty of time for hard reflection.

Mungu hutumia watu 'wajinga' na 'wapumbavu' kufanya mambo makubwa katika maisha yao na ya watu wengine. Katika Biblia, Musa aliitwa mjinga alipokiuka amri ya Farao ya kuendelea kuwafanya watumwa wana wa Israeli nchini Misri; Nuhu aliitwa mpumbavu alipohubiri kwa miaka mia kuhusu gharika, katika kipindi ambacho watu hawakujua mvua ni nini; Daudi aliitwa mjinga alipojitolea kupambana na Goliati bonge la mtu, shujaa wa Gathi; Yusufu aliitwa mjinga alipokataa kulala na mke wa bosi wake, baada ya kuwa ameuzwa na nduguze kama mtumwa nchini Misri; Abrahamu aliitwa mjinga alipoamua kuhama nchi aliyoipenda na kwenda katika nchi ya ahadi, eti kwa sababu Mungu alimwambia kufanya hivyo; Yesu aliitwa mjinga mpaka akasulubiwa aliposema yeye ni Mfalme na Mwana wa Mungu. LAKINI, Musa alitenganisha Bahari ya Shamu na kuwapeleka Waisraeli katika nchi ya ahadi, ambako aliwakomboa kutoka utumwani. Nuhu aliokoa dunia. Daudi alimshinda Goliati. Yusufu aliokoa familia yake kutokana na njaa. Abrahamu alikuwa baba wa imani. Yesu aliyashinda mauti. Wakati mwingine tunatakiwa kufanya mambo makubwa kulingana na jinsi Roho Mtakatifu anavyotutuma, bila kujali watu au dunia itasemaje.