Best 9776 quotes in «death quotes» category

You gain inner peace when you become comfortable with the reality of death.

You exist whether it is written down or not, and you are dead whether it's written down or not too.

You expect death to bring some new form of punctuation, but there it is: one small gasp. Period.

You had once asked me if I was afraid of death. I said I was afraid of not living. I don’t want to eke out my life like a resource in short supply. The only selfish life is a timid one. To hold back, to withdraw, to keep the best in reserve, both overvalues the self, and undervalues what the self is.

You Hang on to your pain like it means something; like it's worth something. Well, let me tell you, it's not worth shit, so let it go. Infinite Possibilities and all you can do is whine." "Well, what am I supposed to do?" "What do you think? You can do anything, you lucky bastard; You're alive!

You go in through the front door of the hospital and depending on how successful your treatment is determines whether you leave through the front door or in a box out of the back door.

You have come a long way, and you do not know it. You have a long way to do, and you do know what that means.

You have a standing invitation to experience God's presence but you have to pay attention because attention creates access.

You have come a long way, and you do not know it. You have a long way to go, and you do know what that means.

You have purged your way. You are ready to lead sons of men.

You haven't lived a full life until you have been in a very tough situation when you thought you were going to die. War does that to you.

You have made flowers grow where I cultivated dust and stones. Remember this, on this journey you insist on making. If you die, I will not survive you long.

You have no choice about how you feel about this. Your only choice is whether to feel it now or later." Although her comment helped a little at first, during the next twenty-five years I would keep discovering that how much I was able to feel, or not, and when, was not a matter of choice.

You have not escaped his notice either- you are here by 'a call' not by choice.

You haven't rewarded evil unto them who were at peace with you; nor you have delivered them that without cause is your enemy. But they want to tread down your soul upon the earth, and lay your honour in the dust.

You have strength born of years of grief and anger... The strength of a man denied revenge.

You have tasted of death now,” said the old man. “Is it good?” “It is good,” said Mossy. “It is better than life.” “No,” said the old man: “it is only more life.

You haven't lost Iraki, you know. I don't know if it helps to say that. I lost a friend once myself, and I know how it goes. 'He'll find his way inside you, and you'll carry him onward. Behind your heartbeat, you'll hear another one, faint and out of step. People will say you are speaking his opinions, or your hair has turned like his. 'There are no more facts about him, that part is over. Now is the time for essential things. You'll see visions of him wherever you go. You'll see his eyes so moist, his intentions so blinding, you'll think he is more alive than you. You will look around and wonder if it was you who died. 'Gradually you'll grow older than him, and love him as your son. 'In the future, you'll live astride the line separating life from death. You'll become experienced in the wisdom of grief. You won't wait until people die to grieve for them. You'll give them their grief while they are still alive, for then judgement falls away, and there remains only the miracle of being.'

YOU have to design your own Price tag for the world.

You have to die to become alive and that’s why tragedy seems so beautiful.

You have to live each hour as if it’s your last,” she said, “and each day as if you were immortal. When my father grew ill, he had so many regrets. There were so many things he wished he’d done, he told me. He’d always assumed he had more time. That’s something I’ve always carried with me. Why on earth do you think I decided to attempt the flute at such an advanced age? Everyone told me I was too old, that to be truly good at it I had to have started as a child. But that’s not the point, really. I don’t need to be truly good. I just need to enjoy it for myself. And I need to know I tried.

You hear about ghosts: sad ghosts, angry ghosts.I'll tell you, the worst is when they laugh, and the worst sort are the ones whose faces I've forgotten.

You just hear the wind. And you just see the stars above you. They are beautiful. And then . . . they're gone.

You honor the dead by honoring the living.

You know because you’ve been it, and I know because I’m dead and it gives one such a wonderfully uncluttered perspective.

You know, darkness is a funny thing. Little by little, it creeps up on you and before you know it, you can’t escape it

You know? Ain’t it ironic how we live our entire lives without the luxury of time, only to spend an eternity in death.

You know someone asked me today did I believe in God. I told them yes because there has to be something that started this whole Universal Balance thing in the cosmos. The guy (not mentioning names) said I was wasting my time with the belief of a higher entity. Well, this is my logic in the equation. "If you are correct in believing there is not God, by passing on love, harmony and trying to do right by humanity, I am growing as a human to be a better person and when I die and if there is no God then I have harmed no one. But if I am right and God exists and you do not worship or believe in God you are a better candidate to going to hell than I am so, I am not taking any chances.

You know that feeling when you tip your chair too far and begin to fall backward? The sensation was something like that, mixed with self recrimination and the fear of death.

You know, I still can't get my head around what happened to Ana. She was there last week. She lent me a pen in English class. How can someone go from lending a pen to being dead?

You know, it’s really very peculiar. To be mortal is the most basic human experience, and yet man has never been able to accept it, grasp it, and behave accordingly. Man doesn’t know how to be mortal. And when he dies, he doesn’t even know how to be dead.

You know that you are getting old when the people that you grew up with start dying.

You know the life you have committed yourself to often ends in death. All life does. pg 217

You know we talked about where people go when they die. I just believe you go someplace and I seen her layin there and I thought maybe she wouldn't go to heaven because, you know, I thought she wouldn't and I thought about God forgivin people and I thought about if I could ask God to forgive me for killin that son of a bitch because you and me both know I ain't sorry for it and I reckon this sounds ignorant but I didn't want to be forgiven if she wasn't. I didn't want to do or be nothin that she wasn't like going to heaven or anything like that.

You know what love is because you've studied it, not because you've felt it. You never will. You know what love is? It's this insidious thing that infects your eyes and ears, spreads to every inch of skin, the follicles of hair on the skin, the lips, the tongue, a hundred million microscopic organisms crawling on you. They commandeer the hollow of your thorax and your guts, your arms, your legs, your head, and other extremities. You cease to be yourself. You are now a vessel of impressions and thoughts of the person you love, of wishes for her, of dreams of her. You're jealous of the air she breathes because she takes it inside her all day and needs it to live; it becomes her, as you want to. You cast your thoughts of her and you an hour, a day, a week, a year, a hundred years into the future. No thought has the power to push itself as far into the future as the thought of love—not even thoughts of fame, or wealth, or death.

You laugh as you sing about dying, you drug yourself up, but you can still see clearly, and you die as you break into a fit of laughter, because asi es la vida in this soup of islands stewed in hunger and the desire to be someone else.

You learn to run by running.

You leave behind your fine poems. You leave behind your beautiful flowers. And the earth that was only leant to you. You ascend into the Light, O Quechomitl, you leave behind the flowers and the singing and the earth. Safe journey, O friend.

You live as if you were destined to live forever, no thought of your frailty ever enters your head, of how much time has already gone by you take no heed. You squander time as if you drew from a full and abundant supply, though all the while that day which you bestow on some person or thing is perhaps your last.

You lived what anybody gets, Bernie. You got a lifetime. No more. No less.

You living ones, be grateful! You don't know how lucky you are.

You'll fight. You'll die. And I'll miss you.

You'll never be as OK with the thought of dying as you are in the moments when you know that you are truly living

You may have thousands of reason to hate someone But there is only one reason enough to love someone HE/She will die one day

You lose a child and you do understand each other's grief at first, but if you get out of step with each other, it's all over. Suddenly each of you is alone.

You loved her," Isobel said. "Worshipped," Scrimshaw corrected. "But more ludicrous than that, let us not forget, she loved me." He gave a short ironic laugh. "Not just him-the poet. But me as well. I, the epitome of our own penchant for self-destruction. Do you know how difficult...how impossible such a feat must have been?

You may remember that on earth—though of course we never confessed it—the death of anyone we knew, even those we liked best, was always mingled with a certain satisfaction at being finally done with them.

You looked inhuman when you were dying, Doc, your eyes glistened like dimming stars, you were wasting away and life was leaving you piecemeal, your soul no longer fit your body, you hated it and I hated it and I couldn't recognize you and I couldn't see you and I was frightened and I never knew what to do, I looked for the man I love in you and I searched for who I used to be around you and I couldn't find either.

You may say suicide is a loss of control and cowardly. Foolish as it may sound, I am prepared to argue.

You must believe me that trying to bring back the dead is not worth the trouble. In any sense. And it’s not right, either—the dead don’t like to be disturbed. It’s like trying to wake someone from a wonderful dream and bring them back to an unpleasant, imperfect reality. For most of them, at any rate, but the flip side presents another score of problems.