Best 9776 quotes in «death quotes» category

Men sooner forget the death of their father than the loss of their patrimony

Michael O'Sullivan was my great friend. But I don't ever remember telling him that. The words that are spoken at a funeral are spoken too late for the man who is dead.

Mexican writer and diplomat, "Pasado en claro" ("A Draft of Shadows") You learn something the day you die. You learn how to die.

Mild is the slow necessity of death; The tranquil spirit fails beneath its grasp, Without a groan, almost without a fear, Resigned in peace to the necessity; Calm as a voyager to some distant land, And full of wonder, full of hope as he.

Middle age snuffs out more talent than even wars or sudden death.

Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.

Modern thought has transferred the spectral character of Death to the notion of time itself. Time has become Death triumphant over all.

Modern death is a matter of bright rooms and hard machines. Live long enough, and you might be filed away in a nursing home, your history scoured away, your life winnowed down to a few items on the table and some pictures of people who don't come around enough. When you are about to pass on, there is no quiet to attend you: busy fuss and professional zeal strive to bring you back, nail you to the soft cross of the rented bed.

Monogamy is god's way of making death seem like a more reasonable option.

More than illness or death, the American journalist fears standing alone against the whim of his owners or the prejudices of his audience. Deprive William Safire of the insignia of the New York Times, and he would have a hard time selling his truths to a weekly broadsheet in suburban Duluth.

Mortality has its compensations; one is that all evils are transitory, another that better times may come.

Most men ebb and flow in wretchedness between the fear of death and the hardship of life; they are unwilling to live, and yet they do not know how to die.

Most people can't bear to sit in church for an hour on Sundays. How are they supposed to live somewhere very similar to it for eternity?

Most people have died before they expire; died to all earthly longings, so that the last breath is only, as it were, the locking of the door of the already deserted mansion.

Most people die from the remedy rather than from the illness.

Most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes.

Mud unto mud!--Death eddies near-- Not here the appointed End, not here! But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, Is wetter water, slimier slime!

Murder and capital punishment are not opposites that cancel one another, but similars that breed their kind. It is the deed that teaches not the name we give it.

Must then a Christ perish in torment in every age to save those that have no imagination.

My curiosity to see the melancholy spectacle of the executions was so strong that I could not resist it, although I was sensible that I would suffer much from it.... I got upon a scaffold near the fatal tree so that I could clearly see all the dismal scene.... I was most terribly shocked, and thrown into a very deep melancholy.

My beautiful wife is dead. She meant everything to me. Her laughter, her tears and her joy will remain with me the rest of my life.

Must not all things at the last be swallowed up in death?

My girlfriend's weird. One day she asked me, 'If you could know how and when you were going to die, would you want to know?' I said, 'No.' She said, 'Okay, forget it.

My day's work will begin again the next morning. The tomb is not a blind alley.

My father always used to say that when you die, if you've got five real friends, then you've had a great life.

My father was a film-maker. He always said he wanted to go like Humphrey Jennings, the legendary director who stepped backwards over a cliff while framing a better shot.

My dad was dead, so these streets had to raise me.

My grandmother was a very tough woman. She buried three husbands and two of them were just napping.

My husband is everything to me and without him it's just not the same.

My husband wanted to be cremated. I told him I'd scatter his ashes at Neiman Marcus - that way, I'd visit him every day.

My idea of walking into the jaws of death is marrying some woman who has lost three husbands.

My lifestyle determines my deathstyle.

My life is in denial. And when I die, baptized in eternal fire, I'll shed many tears.

My life is light, waiting for the death wind, Like a feather on the back of my hand.

My manuscripts sleep, while I cannot, for I am covered with poultices.

My spirit is too weak--mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, And each imagin'd pinnacle and steep Of godlike hardship tells me I must die Like a sick Eagle looking at the sky.

My sole defense against the natural horror which death inspires is to love beyond it.

My maternal grandma was a tough, tough lady and a stern woman, who lost her husband young and raised six kids by herself. She lived in a mining community in Upstate New York and ran a boarding house for miners. She took care of an entire family and miners who lived in the house as well.

My prayer to the Lord every day, is this-I have been a great sinner. I do not deserve Heaven. Let me stay here.

My psychiatrist says I have a messiah complex. But I forgave him.

Mythology is the womb of mankind's initiation to life and death.

My uncle Sammy was an angry man. He had printed on his tombstone: What are you looking at?

My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One of us has got to go.

Nay, the greatest wits and poets, too, cease to live; Homer, their prince, sleeps now in the same forgotten sleep as do the others. [Lat., Adde repertores doctrinarum atque leporum; Adde Heliconiadum comites; quorum unus Homerus Sceptra potitus, eadem aliis sopitu quiete est.]

Naked I came, naked I leave the scene

Nature does not know extinction; all it knows is transformation. ... Everything science has taught me-and continues to teach me-strengthens my belief in the continuity of our spiritual existence after death. Nothing disappears without a trace.

Nature intends that, at fixed periods, men should succeed each other by the instrumentality of death. We shall never outwit Nature; we shall die as usual.

Nearly dying brings you closer to living. There's a thin border; you feel yourself cross it, going back to the land of the living, going home. Perhaps, if you'd gone the other way, death would have been a different home.

Never say about anything, "I have lost it," but only "I have given it back." Is your child dead? It has been given back. Is your wife dead? She has been returned.

Never chase a lie. Let it alone, and it will run itself to death.