Best 9776 quotes in «death quotes» category

Unless some people are commissioned for the task, there will be no gospel preachers; unless the gospel is preached, sinners will not hear Christ’s message and voice; unless they hear him, they will not believe the truths of his death and resurrection; unless they believe these truths, they will not call on him; and unless they call on his name, they will not be saved.

Unsustainable energy consumption has humanity locked into a death spiral with nature.

Until a seed falls to the ground and dies, it does not become a tree that later yields many fruits and multitude of seeds. We must embrace the thought of death for us to have greater lives.

Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where St Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stock of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him crying: 'Stetson! You, who were with me in the ships at Mylae! That corpse you planted last year in your garden, Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men, Or with his nails he'll dig it up again! You! hypocrite lecteur!-mon semblable,-mon frere!

Until now I had been able only to grieve, not mourn. Grief was passive. Grief happened. Mourning, the act of dealing with grief, required attention.

Until the last man has drawn his last breath, there is always hope.

Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many.

Until such time as duplications of individual nervous systems can be grown in tissue cultures (at this point no one knows "whose" consciousness they would have), our special identities will always be subject to being hit by a truck or dying in a plane crash. A sudden virus or heart seizure, even in the body's youth, may carry us off. Statistically, looking ahead thousands of years, the chances are that every human and even inanimate form will be broken sooner or later. But the distress felt by men and women today does not arise from the fear of such hazards. Rather, it comes from the certainty of aging and physical degeneration leading to death. It is the fear of losing our powers and being left alone, or in the hands of indifferent nurses, and knowing that the moment must come when we will not see the people we love any more, and everything will go black.

Until you find a cause you can die for, you are not worthy to live.

Until then, in the depth of those eyes, all I had seen was the promise of death; it was the first time I saw the promise of life

Until we’re pushing up daisies, it might be good to remind ourselves daily that everything’s coming up roses — for me and for you.

Until your our last breath, lots of surprises waiting for you each day, and at those points you can't do anything, just wait, watch and react according to the situation like helpless kid. After the last breath also, you don't know, even more surprises are there for you like heaven or hell.. Hahaha, it's the true meaning of life....

Until two days ago what had driven him was the will to survive: deep, animal, full of rage—but always part of him had not cared at all whether he lived or died. Now he did care, and very deeply, and so for the first time in a long time he was afraid. To love life is, of course, a wonderful thing, but not on this day of all days.

Unto the Cross came death, and unto death came the Cross.

Upon the time of death, when you leave your body and look back at your memories, it might come as a big surprise to you to see that you have spent an entire lifetime behaving according to what others expected from you, that is, doing what they expected you to do according to your exterior appearance to them, and based on which they formed their entire conclusions regarding who you are. When that moment comes, you will regret wasting an entire lifetime living in total darkness about your true self. That is when you will wish to be reborn again. And then you will forget your regrets and repeat your previous steps. And you will reborn again, and again, and again, until the world you live in, is uplifted enough to help you go through life in a good way. But, ironically, that cannot be achieved until such world becomes what you wish it to be, until others are better than you. And so, it is paradoxically comic to realize that you will never become better than those that surround you, and it is up to you to help them help you.

Up until that point everyone who gets hurt winds up fine. There's not actual loss. And then Voldemort kills Cedric Diggory and suddenly everything becomes real. We have to face the possibility that we won't all live long enough to lose our hair or become those crotchety old folks who yell at dumb kids like us. Good people die and bad people don't always get what they deserve. Death stops being this abstract concept that happens to other people, and becomes something that could happen to the people we love. Or even to us.

Urban people celebrate death, they just invite people, dine in the name of dead; even if the dead goes to hell. Nevertheless, rustic people are different. They rejoice when someone dies; they cry.

Vampires are fond of their games. But the games that They play are different than the variants that I'm familiar with. The rules were made to be bent, broken, shattered—and somebody always gets hurt. Always.

Usually the things that kill us are the things we do every single day.

Usually when you are grieving and someone says something so senselessly optimistic to you, it's about them. Either they want to feel like they can say something helpful, or they simply cannot allow themselves to entertain the finality and pain of death, so instead they turn it into a Precious Moments greeting card.

variety is life; uniformity is death

Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi- questa morte che ci accompagna dal mattino alla sera, insonne, sorda, come un vecchio rimorso o un vizio assurdo. I tuoi occhi saranno una vana parola, un grido taciuto, un silenzio. Così li vedi ogni mattina quando su te sola ti pieghi nello specchio. O cara speranza, quel giorno sapremo anche noi che sei la vita e sei il nulla. Per tutti la morte ha uno sguardo. Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi. Sarà come smettere un vizio, come vedere nello specchio riemergere un viso morto, come ascoltare un labbro chiuso. Scenderemo nel gorgo muti.

Vanye: You're asking me to kill you. Luthiel: I'm asking you to save her.

Vaporized by the sun! Wasn't that what the universe had in store for all of us? There would come a day when the sun exploded like a red balloon, and everyone on earth would be reduced in less than a camera flash to carbon. Didn't Genesis say as much? For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return. This was far more than dull old theology: It was precise scientific observation! Carbon was the Great Leveler--the Grim Reaper. Diamonds were nothing more than carbon, but carbon in a crystal lattice that made it the hardest known mineral in nature. That was the way we all were headed. I was sure of it. We were destined to be diamonds!

Verily, there is no dishonor in death at the hands of a far superior enemy.

Verily it is a foolish thought that they both have devised, for the ground is given unto the wood, and the sea also had its place to bear its floods.

Venerdì sera avete rubato la vita di una creatura eccezionale, l'amore della mia vita, la madre di mio figlio, ma non avrete il mio odio. Non so chi siete e non voglio saperlo. Siete anima morte. Se quel Dio per quale uccidete ciecamente ci ha fatto a sua immagine, ogni proiettile nel corpo di mia moglie sarà stata una ferita al cuore per lui.

Verwechsle nicht den Botschafter mit der Nachricht." (Storr der Schnitter)

Very well, but - who are you?' again asked Gil Gil, in whom curiosity was beginning to get the better of every other feeling. 'I told you that when I first spoke to you - I am your friend. And bear in mind that you are the only being on the face of the earth to whom I accord the title of friend. I am bound to you by remorse! I am the cause of all your misfortunes.' 'I do not know you,' replied the shoemaker. 'And yet I have entered your house many times! Through me you were left motherless at your birth; I was the cause of the apoplectic stroke that killed Juan Gil; it was I who turned you out of the palace of Rionuevo; I assassinated your old house-mate, and, finally, it was I who placed in your pocket the vial of sulfuric acid.' Gil Gil trembled like a leaf; he felt his hair stand on end, and it seemed to him as if his contracted muscles must burst asunder. 'You are the devil!' he exclaimed, with indescribable terror. 'Child!' responded the black-robed figure in accents of amiable censure, 'what has put that idea into your head? I am something greater and better than the wretched being you have named.' 'Who are you, then?' 'Let us go into the inn and you shall learn.' Gil hastily entered, drew the Unknown before the modest lantern that lighted the apartment, and looked at him with intense curiosity. He was a person about thirty-three years old; tall, handsome, pale, dressed in a long black tunic and a black mantle, and his long locks were covered by a Phrygian cap, also black. He had not the slightest sign of a beard, yet he did not look like a woman. Neither did he look like a man... ("The Friend of Death")

Viewed from a different angle, my uncle's words offered up the rest of my life as an unexpected gift, an opportunity for the most radical improvisation. I could be whatever I wanted to be, as long as I didn't end up another corpse in the casket with a hole in his head. Anything went. Anything was permissible, as long as I lived.

ving self and others is an every second of every day of every week, of every month, of every year gift that should not be taken for granted or withdrawn for petty arguments and misunderstandings. No one knows the day nor the hour that we or a loved one will meet our expiration here on this earth. Time to make time to heal, amend and/or forgive broken relationships, to live your dreams without regret and love like there is no tomorrow for when tomorrow is no longer there...memories will be great and consciences will be clear.

Victory must be real. It must be earned. That means it must be rare and difficult, against steep odds, and defeat must be the other.

Vienmēr kā pacelta Zvēra ķetna blakus ir drauds, ka nāve iesprauksies starp diviem un atņems to otro.

VILLAIN. By Omrane Khuder. Staggering, tripping, stumbling down the tightrope, hastening to be set free. Yearning to be protected by the Superhero, before the Villain’s revulsion ingests me. Misplacing my footing on the tightrope, hands sweltering as the rope is pulled away. Glancing down at the fire below me, the chuckling Villain has won today. Little did I know, it was He setting me free. Little did I know, the tightrope was me.

Violence can read like poetry. You just have to describe the act as if you’re in love with the way your characters bleed.

(visions) of strange cities, of sandy plains, of gigantic ruins, of midnight skies with strange bright constellations, of mountain-passes, of grassy nooks flecked with the afternoon sunshine through the boughs: I was in the midst of such scenes, and in all of them one presence seemed to weigh on me in all these mighty shapes - the presence of something unknown and pitiless. For continual suffering had annihilated religious faith within me: to the utterly miserable - the unloving and the unloved - there is no religion possible, no worship but a worship of devils. And beyond all these, and continually recurring, was the vision of my death - the pangs, the suffocation, the last struggle, when life would be grasped at in vain. ("The Lifted Veil")

Visitors offering their condolences, thinking to comfort me, said "Life goes on." What nonsense, I thought, of course it doesn't. It's death that goes on; Ian is dead now and will be dead tomorrow and next year and forever. There's no end to that. But perhaps there will be an end to the sorrow of it.

Visible objects therefore do not perish utterly, since nature repairs one thing from another and allows nothing to be born without the aid of another's death.

Vivre est une maladie, dont le sommeil nous soulage toutes les seize heures ; c’est un palliatif : la mort est le remède.

Voi rakkaani sydän on kylmä ja sammalta käteni kasvaa Minun reiteni mullassa hajoovat maaksi Ja haudalla risti jo lahona on. Olen maa. Olen maa johon tahdot.

Voy a tener que irme a un planeta sin aire. Porque eres el aire. Eres el aire. Eres el aire. Y el agua. Y los jazmines. Y mi sombra. Y mi canto. ¡Vete! ¿No te han dicho, acaso, que los muertos no regresan? Nunca regresan. Nunca regresan. Nunca regresan.

Wafa Wanaka, our elders say. Not only does this mean that death is the ultimate peace, it also means that we are not to speak ill of the dead. Once a person has crossed over to the real of the spirits, he takes his transgressions with him, and we speak only of the good. - 'Something Nice from London

Wait, for now. Distrust everything if you have to. But trust the hours. Haven’t they carried you everywhere, up to now? Personal events will become interesting again. Hair will become interesting. Pain will become interesting. Buds that open out of season will become interesting. Second-hand gloves will become lovely again; their memories are what give them the need for other hands. The desolation of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness carved out of such tiny beings as we are asks to be filled; the need for the new love is faithfulness to the old. Wait. Don’t go too early. You’re tired. But everyone’s tired. But no one is tired enough. Only wait a little and listen: music of hair, music of pain, music of looms weaving our loves again. Be there to hear it, it will be the only time, most of all to hear your whole existence, rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.

Wait for me, Kath. Coming soon. I feel it in my bones.

Wait," he whispered. But she didn't.

Walking alone in the dark early the next morning, New Year's Day, the coming year stretched out like a bleak and endless highway, leading nowhere.... Having held on for months, thinking that that if only we can get through to the new year, now I felt plunged into black ice, in danger of drowning.... Suddenly I understood our friends' concern. Could this be what precedes some kind of breakdown--a sudden shift to feel oblivion as temptation, even as seduction?

waiting in a life full of little stories for a death to come

Wake up. If your eyes are sleeping then wipe them gently. You need to be awake for this. It is a matter of life and death. Wake up! If your mind is sleeping then shake it quickly. You need to be awake for this. It is a matter of life and death. Wake up, I said! If your heart is sleeping then beat your chest! You need to be awake for life! You need to be awake for love! It is a matter of living and being alive.

WAKE UP NOW...You will become a history one day...Even if you are most important, most powerful, most wanted or most influential individual on the planet. THAT’S IT!

Walk a bit further. There is a different land not far away. The people in it have the magic to break the icy fingers of the great death. I heard that you don’t even have to pay. However, you have to find their door. It is only found by those who pay the other price.