Best 9776 quotes in «death quotes» category

Ah, if only a few more massacres would suffice To sort it all out once and for all With so many uprisings and so many fallen heads In Paradise we should all be by now! But the wished-for Golden Age is endlessly postponed The gods remain so thirsty, they are insatiable Thus it is death, an endless cycle of death

A human act once set in motion flows on forever to the great account. Our deathlessness is in what we do, not in what we are.

A human life has seasons much as the earth has seasons, each time with its own particular beauty and power. And gift. By focusing on springtime and summer, we have turned the natural process of life into a process of loss rather than a process of celebration and appreciation. Life is neither linear nor stagnant. It is movement from mystery to mystery. Just as a year includes autumn and winter, life includes death, not as an opposite but as an integral part of the way life is made.

Alas, day, you brought light, You trailed splendour You showed us god: I salute you, most precious one, But I go to a new place, Another life.

Alas, I am dying beyond my means.

A life of action and danger moderates the dread of death.

A little allegory of the soul - wherever it hides, God will find it.

A little time separates us from those who depart - a time of tears, a time of sadness and solitude; but, that over, we go to rejoin them and to enjoy with them the society of the blessed. Oh, how sweetly the heart rests in this immortal hope!

A little while with grief and laughter, And then the day will close; The shadows gather ... what comes after No man knows.

All architects want to live beyond their deaths.

All death in nature is birth, and at the moment of death appears visibly the rising of life. There is no dying principle in nature, for nature throughout is unmixed life, which, concealed behind the old, begins again and develops itself. Death as well as birth is simply in itself, in order to present itself ever more brightly and more like to itself.

All flesh is grass. and all its glory fades Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind; Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream; The man we celebrate must find a tomb, And we that worship him, ignoble graves.

All human beings are like travelers floating down the eternal river of time, embarking at a certain point and disembarking again at another point in order to make room for others waiting below the river to come aboard.

All I desire for my own burial, is not to be buried alive; but how or where, I think, must be entirely indifferent to every rational creature.

All men think that all men are mortal but themselves.

All our knowledge merely helps us to die a more painful death than the animals that know nothing. A day will come when science will turn upon its error and no longer hesitate to shorten our woes. A day will come when it will dare and act with certainty; when life, grown wiser, will depart silently at its hour, knowing that it has reached its term.

All our knowledge merely helps us to die a more painful death than animals that know nothing.

All say, ‘how hard it is that we have to die’ -- a strange complaint to come from the mouths of those who have had to live.

All stories, if continued far enough, end in death.

All societies on the verge of death are masculine. A society can survive with only one man; no society will survive a shortage of women.

All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.

All this talk about equality. The only thing people really have in common is that they are all going to die.

A long life or a short life are of equal importance to God.

All things are subject to decay and when fate summons, monarchs must obey.

Along with the lazy man... the dying man is the immoral man: the former, a subject that does not work; the latter, an object that no longer even makes itself available to be worked on by others.

All trials are trials for one's life, just as all sentences are sentences of death.

Although the time of death is approaching me, I am not afraid of dying and going to Hell or (what would be considerably worse) going to the popularized version of Heaven. I expect death to be nothingness and, for removing me from all possible fears of death, I am thankful to atheism.

A man dies ... only a few circles in the water prove that he was ever there. And even they quickly disappear. And when they're gone, he's forgotten, without a trace, as if he'd never even existed. And that's all.

Although we may trust God's promises for life after death and the certainty of a heavenly home, we must still face the reality of death.

A man after death, is not a natural but a spiritual man; nevertheless he still appears in all respects like himself.

A man’s dying is more the survivors’ affair than his own.

A man dies not for the many wounds that pierce his breast, unless it be that life's end keep pace with death, nor by sitting on his hearth at home doth he the more escape his appointed doom.

A man can be saved and not believe in the Doctrines of Grace...but he must be a very proud man. Unknown-but if you know who said it, please tell me You're born. You suffer. You die. Fortunately, there's a loophole.

A man does not die of love or his liver or even of old age; he dies of being a man.

A man is not completely born until he is dead.

A man's life breath cannot come back again-- no raiders in force, no trading brings it back, once it slips through a man's clenched teeth.

A man, when he burns, leaves only a handful of ashes. No woman can hold him. The wind must blow him away.

A man who thinks that death is against life can never be non-violent. It is impossible. A man who thinks that death is the enemy can never be at ease, at home. That is impossible. How can you be at ease when the enemy is waiting for you any moment? It will jump on you and destroy you. How can you be non-tense when death is waiting just around the corner and the shadow of death is always falling on you? It can happen any moment. How can you rest when death is there? How can you relax? The enemy won't allow you to relax.

A man of about fifty-four years of age, had begun, five or six months before, to be somewhat emaciated in his whole body...a troublesome vomiting came on, of a fluid which resembl’d water, tinctur’d with soot.... Death took place.... In the stomach...was an ulcerated cancerous tumour.... Betwixt the stomach and the spleen were two glandular bodies, of the bigness of a bean, and in their colour, and substance, not much unlike that tumour which I have describ’d in the stomach.

A man's ethical behaviour should be based effectually on sympathy, education, and social ties and needs; no religious basis is necessary. Man would indeed be in a poor way if he had to be restrained by fear of punishment and hope of reward after death.

A man's legacy is determined by how the story ends.

A matador is a guy who didn't have enough people skills to be promoted to serial killer.

An absolute condition of all successful living, whether for an individual or a nation, is the acceptance of death.

An adept of Kriya Yoga conquers death by taking the soul beyond identification with the physical body, consciously and at will; and then returning to the consciousness of the mortal form again. By this process, he experiences the body as merely the material dwelling place of the soul. He can remain therein as long as he wants; and after that body has fulfilled its usefulness, he can quit it at will without suffering physical pain or mental pain due to attachment, and enter his omnipresent home in God.

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.

And all winds go sighing For sweet things dying.

Ancient Egyptians believed that upon death they would be asked two questions and their answers would determine whether they could continue their journey in the afterlife. The first question was, 'Did you bring joy?' The second was, 'Did you find joy?

And die of nothing but a rage to live.

And die with decency.

And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me.... And as to you corpse, I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips — I reach to the polished breasts of melons. And as to you life, I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.