Best 9776 quotes in «death quotes» category

I have graduated to the extent of not asking what is happening in my life because I trust the maker(God).

I have kept thee long in waiting, dear Romuald, and thou mayst well have thought that I had forgotten thee. But I have come from a long distance and from a place from which no one has ever before returned; there is neither moon nor sun in the country from which I come; there is naught but space and shadow; neither road nor path; no ground for the foot, no air for the wing; and yet here I am, for love is stronger than death, and it will end by vanquishing it. Ah! what gloomy faces and what terrible things I have seen in my journeying! What a world of trouble my soul, returned to this earth by the power of my will, has had in finding its body and reinstating itself therein! What mighty efforts I had to put forth before I could raise the stone with which they had covered me! See! the palms of my poor hands are all blistered from it. Kiss them to make them well, dear love!

I have learned that it is one thing to kill in battle, to send a brave man's soul to the corpse hall of the gods, but quite another to take a helpless man's life...

I have never feared death, Nor the fact that my life will come to an end one day. All I’ve ever been frightened of is to be a walking dead or that one morning I may wake up with no aim to be alive. It scares the hell out of me that maybe one day I’ll lose my desire to love, to dream, to have hope or even to smile. I don’t fear to be dead, I fear to live and not being alive…

I have never killed anyone, fictional or otherwise. I have no idea what it’s like to kill someone, but it seems like it would be horrible. One of my biggest goals in life is to get through it without knowing anything of what it’s like to kill another human being. People die. That’s true in novels, and it’s true in life. Dying is one of the very few things we all do. To deny or ignore the omnipresent reality of death seems to me a disservice to human beings. That said, acknowledging in my novels that death exists does not make me a murderer any more than acknowledging that cancer can be treated makes me an oncologist.

I have learned to thank God for what I cannot see, I have learned to trust God with what I cannot.

I have lived a life of success and failure, lows and highs. I have enjoyed every moment that I am not fearful of death.

I have more than once tried to analyse this apparently deliberate form of self-torture that seems common to so many people in face of the extinction of a valued life, human or animal, and it springs, I think, from a negation of death, as if by summoning and arranging these subjective images one were in some way cheating the objective fact. It is, I believe, an entirely instinctive process, and the distress it brings with it is an incidental, a by-product, rather than a masochistic end.

I have my priorities and I know my purpose. I do not Praise God because of my pain but I praise Him because of what the pain is producing.

I have never fully unbosomed myself to any human being; I have never been encouraged to trust much in the sympathy of my fellow men. But we have all a chance of meeting with some pity, some tenderness, some charity, when we are dead: it is the living only who cannot be forgiven - the living only from whom men's indulgence and reverence are held off, like the rain by the hard east wind. While the heart beats, bruise it - it is your only opportunity; while the eye can still turn towards you with moist, timid entreaty, freeze it with an icy unanswering gaze; while the ear, that delicate messenger to the inmost sanctuary of the soul, can still take in the tones of kindness, put it off with hard civility, or sneering compliment, or envious affectation of indifference; while the creative brain can still throb with the sense of injustice, with the yearning for brotherly recognition - make haste - oppress it with your ill-considered judgements, your trivial comparisons, your careless misrepresentations. The heart will by and by be still - ubi saeoa indignatio ulterius cor lacerate nequit; the eye will cease to entreat; the ear will be deaf; the brain will have ceased from all wants as well as from all work. Then your charitable speeches may find vent; then you may remember and pity the toil and the struggle and the failure; then you may give due honour to the work achieved; then you may find extenuation for errors, and may consent to bury them ("The Lifted Veil")

I have never lived a life so much larger than death. (93)

I have nothing now but praise for my life. I'm not unhappy. I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more...

I have no use for your body, for within its youth lies a rotten wench already deceased.

I have no riches but my thoughts, Yet these are wealth enough for me; My thoughts of you are golden coins Stamped in the mint of memory; And I must spend them all in song, For thoughts, as well as gold, must be Left on the hither side of death To gain their immortality.

I have noticed that even those who assert that everything is predestined and that we can change nothing about it still look both ways before they cross the street

I have no fear of the dead. Indeed in my own limited experience I have found them to produce in me a feeling that is quite the opposite of fear. A dead body is much more fascinating than a live one and I have learned that most corpses tell better stories. I’d had the good fortune of seeing several of them in my time.

I have noticed a trend in premature deaths in the people that I know and the presence of streetlights outside of their homes.

I have often observed that people who throughout their lives have been judged repulsive and distasteful are spoken of after their death as though they had never been repulsive and distasteful. This has always struck me as tasteless and embarrassing. When someone dies, his death does not make him a different person, a better character: it does not make him a genius if he was an idiot, or a saint if he was a monster. . . After the death of somebody throughout his life was a dreadful person, a thoroughly low character, how can I suddenly maintain that he was not a dreadful person, not a low character, but a good person? We daily witness such tastelessness when someone has died.

I have outlived a few of the kids that I grew up with in Knowsley Village, Liverpool, UK. Two dropped dead at eighteen years of age from heart attacks! They lived across the road from each other and played together. I wonder if it was some exposure that was common to them? Curiously, an entire family of three ladies all got breast cancer just round the corner from them, it killed my friend! A little further up the road another friend dropped dead of brain cancer in her thirties. Always seemed like far too much premature death in such a small area.

I have reveled in my littleness and irresponsibility. It has relieved me of the harassing desire to live, I feel content to live dangerously, indifferent to my fate; I have discovered I am a fly, that we are all flies, that nothing matters. It’s a great load off my life, for I don’t mind being such a micro-organism—to me the honour is sufficient of belonging to the universe—such a great universe, so grand a scheme of things. Not even Death can rob me of that honour. For nothing can alter the fact that I have lived; I have been I, if for ever so short a time. And when I am dead, the matter which composes my body is indestructible—and eternal, so that come what may to my “Soul,” my dust will always be going on, each separate atom of me playing its separate part—I shall still have some sort of a finger in the Pie. When I am dead, you can boil me, burn me, drown me, scatter me—but you cannot destroy me: my little atoms would merely deride such heavy vengeance. Death can do no more than kill you.

I have remembered Who wept for a parting between the living and the dead.

i have survived far too much to go quietly let a meteor take me call the thunder for backup my death will be grand the land will crack the sun will eat itself - the day I leave

I have seen death face to face and returned to the world of living beings. I have savored the fear of death by the drops, My conviction is strong because my experience is direct. Life is full of agitation and anxieties, death is calm, cool and peaceful. It is not death but the fear of death that is painful. And that fear, I tell you, is entirely baseless.

I have spent much of my life around death. I have sat with people as they died. I have listened to others relate near-death experiences. I have studied theology and am aware of what scriptures and religions say about life and death. And I have come to the conclusion that death is not to be feared. Moreover, when it is time for me to move out of this tenement in which I am housed, I intend to look forward to it joyfully.

I have waited twenty years for this phone call . . . and all this time I thought it would go away. I knew I would always be sad for my sister. But I thought the other would go away.” “What is the other, Henrik?” Though he knew the answer. “Anger . . . I am still angry, Detective Bosch.” Bosch nodded. He looked down at his desk, at the photos of all the victims under the glass top. Cases and faces. His eyes moved from the photo of Anneke Jespersen to some of the others. The ones he had not yet spoken for. “So am I, Henrik,” he said. “So am I.” - "The Burning Room" by Michael Connelly

I headed for my office, but stopped when I saw my laptop on the couch. Sorrel had obviously borrowed it—again—without permission. I grabbed it, wondering what questionable site he’d left on the screen this time and making a mental note to run the anti-virus software. After taking a shower, putting on my pajamas, and fixing an ice cream sundae for dinner—yes, it was one of those days—I sat down at my desk and pulled up the web browser.

I have the word of God and my bible is very interesting, this book was conceived in battle, Jesus Christ our Saviour was conceived in brokenness, out of barenness to redeem a people who were in bondage to their sin. I know exactly where to go when the people start getting confused, trading lies for truth, buying injustice for justice and even when the media starts to show me the prospectives of the world that I am living in, I have my prospective from the word of God.

I heard death had a name, but I forgot what it was.

I heard our kid here is quite the scrapper.

I heard them tearing at it. It was the sound of mortality.

I hold the key to his heart right here." He lifted a briefcase from his side to show her. "All we have to do is wind it up again.

I know the consequences of what I’ve done. Kill me if You must. There was a long silence, and I could sense Her softening, that strange affection She shared with me above the others. Do you think I rejoice in death? I raised my head. What? There is no joy for Me in punishing you or in taking lives. I do what I must to survive. And not only would I not delight in your death, I would mourn it. You must know by now how dear you are to Me. I swallowed. Why me? Why do I have Your favor more so than the others? She was so tender with me, lifting me up from the sand as if She were cradling a baby. Considering her timelessness and my temporariness, I practically was a newborn in Her eyes. Throughout My many, many years and all the sirens I’ve carried in My hands, none of them has considered Me as you do. There’s been a detachment, a deliberate isolation between them and Me. But you? You come to Me with a sweetness, an attempt to understand. You come to Me even when you are not called. I feel for you what a mother feels for her daughter. To end your life would be to end Mine. I cried again. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt You.

Hush a-bye my little bird Hush a-bye my child I have lost a love so great Oh, woe is me.

I remember that day in early May after Le Vesconte's and Private Pilkington's brief joint burial service, one of the men suggested that we name the small spur of land where they were buried "Le Vesconte Point," but Captain Crozier vetoed that idea, saying that if we named every place where one of us might end up buried after the dead person there, we'd run out of land before we ran out of names.

I just want to die knowing that I’ve made a difference in the world... or at least a difference to someone, no matter how small the difference.

I joy, that in these straits I see my west;

It doesn't have to be the last good time. But sooner or later the last good time would come around. It does for all of us.

I was in error when I saw him as fixed and stable and thought I would have him forever. He was never fixed, nor stable, but always just a passing, temporary energy-burst.

I was not born for death and yet I have died a thousand times, he thought. And now I am born again for these hard times.

I just got a rather nasty shock. In looking for something or other I came across the fact that one of my cats is about to be nine years old, and that another of them will shortly thereafter be eight; I have been labouring under the delusion they were about five and six. And yesterday I happened to notice in the mirror that while I have long since grown used to my beard being very grey indeed, I was not prepared to discover that my eyebrows are becoming noticeably shaggy. I feel the tomb is just around the corner. And there are all these books I haven't read yet, even if I am simultaneously reading at least twenty...

I intend to get out of here. It can’t last forever. Others have thought such things, in bad times before this, and they were always right, they did get out one way or another, and it didn’t last forever. Although for them it may have lasted all the forever they had.

I just want to know you're okay. I want to know that you didn't suffer. I want to believe that you are in a better place, that you are happy and have all the things in life that you loved, with you. I want to believe that you and your father are together. Maybe at a barbecue in heaven, eating hot dogs. I know that's not the case. I know that you are gone. But I don't know how to live with that knowledge.

I keep dying and hoping you notice me. But you’re too busy living.

I kissed her and forgot death.

I kiss her ghost, and sleep with the dust on her photograph, next to my bedside.

I killed four flies while waiting. Damn, death was everywhere. Man, bird, beast, reptile, rodent, insect, fish didn't have a chance. The fix was in. I didn't know what to do about it. I got depressed. You know, I see a boy at the supermarket, he's packing my groceries, then I see him sticking himself into his own grave along with the toilet paper, the beer and the chicken breasts.

I knelt in front of life, folded my hands and prayed for some more time; there couldn't be any. My heart bled and so did my tearful eyes. Time, they say, flies, but I saw it slowly passing by taking each of my tardy breaths with it as it walked out of my life...

I knew from the first glimpse that he was dead. But I ran to him”. There was no way in which to describe his feelings, because he hadn’t had any. The world had simply ceased in that moment, and with it, all his knowledge of how things were done. He simply could not see how life might continue. The first lesson of adult life was it, horribly, did.

I knew that I could not possibly teach; the energy and clarity that teaching requires, which I'd always taken for granted, were gone.

I knew then I was going to die in the street without ever seeing Holly again. All because I tried to help an old woman, proving for all eternity that no good deed goes unpunished.