Best 9776 quotes in «death quotes» category

Writing is one method of dealing with being human or wanting to suicide cause in order to write you kill yourself at the same time while remaining alive.

WWPP ('WODEA Witness Protection Programme') ni Programu Maalumu ya Ushahidi ya Tume ya Dunia ya kuwakinga mashahidi wa kihalifu kwa kuwapa makazi mapya, majina mapya, kazi mpya, historia mpya ya maisha, na sura mpya, kuwakinga na Sheria ya Kitalifa ya Kolonia Santita. Ukivunja Sheria ya Kitalifa ya Kiapo cha Swastika cha Kolonia Santita utauwawa, tena utauwawa kinyama, wewe na familia yako.

Wyn eal gedreas. Isso é parte de outro poema que às vezes ouço ser cantado no meu castelo. É um poema triste, e portanto um poema verdadeiro. Wyrd bið ful ãræd, diz ele. O destino é inexorável. E wyn eal gedreas. Toda alegria morreu.

Xander, there are two certainties in life--death and truth. They will both pursue you to your grave. There is no escaping them. But we run from them anyway in hopes that somehow we can slip by unnoticed. In the end, one or both of them catch up. Running doesn't solve anything.

Y al final dejó el horror de esta vida para entrar en el horror de la muerte.

Yalnızca kısa bir süre, bir an için bu acı dizlerimin bağını öyle çözdü ki, nefessiz, cansız ve sanki ölecekmiş gibi bir duyguyla o banka yığılıp kaldım. Ama dediğim gibi bütün acılar korkaktır, yaşama karşı duyulan aşırı arzu karşısında acı geriler; çünkü yaşama arzusu, düşüncelerimizde var olan ölüm arzusundan çok daha güçlü şekilde bedenimizin her zerresinde mevcuttur.

Yaşamda belli bir noktaya gelince, en son ölen umut değil, en son umut ölümdür.

Yeah.” I took another deep breath. “I’m gonna die, Emma.” “You mean eventually, right?” She blinked, and I could tell it hadn’t sunk in. “Please tell me you’re making some kind of big-picture philosophical statement about the inevitability of death and the transient nature of human existence.” “Not eventually, Em. Sometime on Thursday.

Yes, babies in the womb are human beings, but so what?

Yes, but perhaps he did have something to do with it.” (In such arguments Stenham often found himself unexpectedly extolling the bourgeois virtues.) “If he was good himself, and worked hard—” “Never!” cried Amar, his eyes blazing. “You’re a Nazarene, a Christian. That’s why you talk that way. If you were a Moslem and said such things, you’d be killed or struck blind here, this minute. Christians have good hearts, but they don’t know anything. They think they can change what has been written. They’re afraid to die because they don’t understand what death is for. And if you’re afraid to die, then you don’t know what life is for. How can you live?

Yes, Death brings us again to our friends. They are waiting for us, and we shall not long delay. They have gone before us, and are like the angels in heaven. They stand near the borders of the grave to welcome us, with the countenance of affection, which they wore on earth; yet more lovely, more radiant, more spiritual! O, he spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels!

Yes, I believe that there is life after death. Any physicist will tell you that energy doesn't die, it only changes forms. What makes you you, Alex? That hunk of gray matter inside your skull? No way. You- all of us- have a life force. Energy. Some people call it a soul. Whatever you call it, it makes you you. And when your body dies, your energy will remain. I can't say for sure what heaven is. But I have faith that it's a special place, and that you will be welcome there.

Yes, because it’s obviously better if you beat each other to death with rocks instead of stabbing each other like civilized human beings,” Sal muttered, looking away.

Yes, I lay in my grave. But if you lie in a grave long enough, you get accustomed to it and you don't want to part from it. He had given me a pill of cyanide, He and his wife and their son also carried such pills. We all lived with death, and I want you to know that one can fall in love with death. Whoever has loved death cannot love anything else any more. When the liberation came and they told me to leave, I didn't want to go. I clung to the threshold like an ox being dragged to the slaughter. ("Hanka")

Yes, I'm broken. And yes, he's broken. But the more we talk about it, the more we share our sadness, the more I start to believe that there could be a chance to fix us, a chance that we could save each other.

Yes, I’ve killed! I’ve killed as indiscriminately as God! And yes, I will kill again. I must.

Yesu wakati anakufa msalabani hakufikiria kifo. Alifikiria maisha.

Yes, she had changed her mind after sixty years and she would like to see George. I want you to find George. Find him and be sure to tell him I forgot him. I want him to know I had my husband just the same and my children and my house like any other woman. A good house too and a good husband that I loved and fine children out of him. Better than I had hoped for even. Tell him I was given back everything he took away and more. Oh, no, oh, God, no, there was something else besides the house and the man and the children. Oh, surely they were not all? What was it? Something not given back... Her breath crowded down under her ribs and grew into a monstrous frightening shape with cutting edges; it bored up into her head, and the agony was unbelievable: Yes, John, get the Doctor now, no more talk, the time has come.

Yes, there it is. Well, then, let there be pain. "And death? Where is it?" He sought his old habitual fear of death and could not find it. Where was it? What death? There was no more fear because there was no more death. Instead of death there was light.

Yes, you are still grieving for the fact that Olly is not loving you as you love him. But death is no solution. Certainly not this horrible, messy death. Could you at least not consider possible option that is not leaving you looking diabolical at funeral?" Oh, for the love of God.

Yet he refused to be depressed. Instead, Morrie had become a lightning rod of ideas.

Yet I loathe the thought of annihilating myself quite as much now as I ever did. I think with sadness of all the books I’ve read, all the places I’ve seen, all the knowledge I’ve amassed and that will be no more. All the music, all the paintings, all the culture, so many places: and suddenly nothing. ... If it had at least enriched the earth; if it had given birth to… what? A hill? A rocket? But no. Nothing will have taken place. I can still see the hedge of hazel trees flurried by the wind and the promises with which I fed my beating heart while I stood gazing at the gold-mine at my feet: a whole life to live. The promises have all been kept. And yet, turning an incredulous gaze towards that young and credulous girl, I realise with stupor how much I was gypped.

Yeyote anayekufa chini ya miaka 70 ameuwawa.

Y lo peor es que hiciste que se disculpara. [...] La hiciste pedir perdón por su enfermedad. Por su valor. Hiciste que le diera vergüenza morirse.

Yet, at the same time, as the Eastern sages also knew, man is a worm and food for worms. This is the paradox: he is out of nature and hopelessly in it; he is dual, up in the stars and yet housed in a heart-pumping, breath-gasping body that once belonged to a fish and still carries the gill-marks to prove it. His body is a material fleshy casing that is alien to him in many ways—the strangest and most repugnant way being that it aches and bleeds and will decay and die. Man is literally split in two: he has an awareness of his own splendid uniqueness in that he sticks out of nature with a towering majesty, and yet he goes back into the ground a few feet in order to blindly and dumbly rot and disappear forever. It is a terrifying dilemma to be in and to have to live with. The lower animals are, of course, spared this painful contradiction, as they lack a symbolic identity and the self-consciousness that goes with it. They merely act and move reflexively as they are driven by their instincts. If they pause at all, it is only a physical pause; inside they are anonymous, and even their faces have no name. They live in a world without time, pulsating, as it were, in a state of dumb being. This is what has made it so simple to shoot down whole herds of buffalo or elephants. The animals don't know that death is happening and continue grazing placidly while others drop alongside them. The knowledge of death is reflective and conceptual, and animals are spared it. They live and they disappear with the same thoughtlessness: a few minutes of fear, a few seconds of anguish, and it is over. But to live a whole lifetime with the fate of death haunting one's dreams and even the most sun-filled days—that's something else.

Yet for quixotic reasons--namely, that I enjoyed writing obits--I had decided to scale back on articles about city life in order to write exclusively about the city's dead. For even less money. It was a strange and inexplicable career move.

Yet this thou art alive, but if ye soar, My poor frail heart will have beat out its cry And sadly miss thy sweet form all the more While helplessly I stand and watch you die.

Yet Theo had become engrossed in his own tale, transporting himself back to the night of which he spoke. In the distance, he could again see the faces he had encountered on that fateful night, the twisted bodies and pained expressions of the men who no longer walked the realms of men, but those of the underworld gods.

You and I have a connection that nothing, not on heaven or earth, or even hell, could ever break. If you want to talk to me, talk to me. I’ll hear you…

You almost died," Mahdi said again, like we might be too stupid to understand. "You say that like it's the first time I've ever had a gun pointed at me," I retorted as Shazad rolled her eyes. "It's not even the first time this month.

You are a cool cemetery. You have the sinner’s grave You have the saint’s earth colliding You have all the beds narrow as a knife; as if a rally of tombstones to defend death. But you can’t really postpone the inauguration of my burial, can you? From the poem - Few Words to Cemetery

You are a hole in my life, a black hole. Anything I place there cannot be returned. I miss you terribly. Ci vedremo lassu, angelo.

You are alone. But you seems not afraid- though you weary with your groaning; wandering far off in the wilderness and your eyes, consumed because of your grief; waxed old while you're still young.

You are as the yellow leaf. The messengers of death are at hand. You are to travel far away. What will you take with you? You are the lamp To lighten the way. Then hurry, hurry. When your light shines Without impurity or desire You will come into the boundless country. Your life is falling away. Death is at hand. Where will you rest on the way? What have you taken with you? You are the lamp To lighten the way. Then hurry, hurry. When your light shines purely You will not be born And you will not die.

You are created invisible spiritually, and invisibility is largely a matter of patience.

You are going to die in front of dozens of witnesses, and none of them will do a thing to help you or avenge you. Because they know exactly what you know: The world is ending.

You are immortal till the very moment you die. Discover it, and stand untouchable.

You are despicable and such cowards that you won't even share your dead bodies with the Earth, but put them inside wooden and metal coffins to "protect" them. From what?

You are judged more by what you do passively than by what you do actively. If one billion of you watch and do not intercede as one million of you assent to the one thousand who participate in the murder of a child, then one billion of you are a billion times guilty.

You are judged many times more by what you do in groups than for what you do as individuals.

You are mortal. You age, you die. If that is not hell, pray tell me, what is?

You are judged many times more by what you give assent to others doing than what you do yourself.

You are judged many times more by what you give assent to others doing than what you do yourself. If one million of you give assent to the one thousand who participate in the murder of a child, then one million of you are a million times guilty.

You are judged more by what you do passively than by what you do actively.

You are judged many times more by what you do in groups than for what you do as individuals. If one thousand of you participate in the murder of one child, then one thousand of you are a thousand times guilty.

You are mortal: it is the mortal way. You attend the funeral, you bid the dead farewell. You grieve. Then you continue with your life.

You are my finest knight

You are not a biomass, you were not born only to be like a bush or tree, just to marry, reproduce and die

You are not dead, until every person who knew you is dead as well." Where did I hear that? It doesn't matter. There is a village in my head.

You are so high in the tree. If you jump you will live a full life while falling. You will get married to a hummingbird and raise beautiful part- hummingbirds. You will die of cancer in mid-air. I will not lie. It will be painful. You are a brave little boy or girl.