Best 9776 quotes in «death quotes» category

May your sleep be your death, and your wakefulness be your heaven.

Meanwhile there was work to do: raising our children, wading through a mass of legal papers, finances, and taxes, and recovering the professional life that was now our sole support, while, at a subterranean level, feeling adrift in dark, unknown waters. And though I'd flared with anger when the priest at Heinz's funeral had warned not to be "angry at God" because of his sudden and violent death, I struggled not to sink under currents of fear, anger, and confusion that roiled an ocean of grief.

Meanwhile, the great ash would rest where she lay, and mosses would creep over her trunk, and tiny creatures make their homes her dim hollows. Even in death she was a link in the great chain of the forest's being.

Meanwhile, we have carved out a place for ourselves among the dead; the glittering pinnacles of commerce rise along the skyline, their foundations sunk in a charnel house; and the lost lie forgotten below us as, overhead, we persaude ourselves that we are immortal and carry on the business of life.

Meditation is The practice of letting go Of life each moment Each in breath followed by out, Receiving life, letting go Practice letting go, Then when death knocks on your door You’ll invite him in

Mellas continued to look at the wallet, saying nothing. Hawke, who had been watching Mellas through the steam that rose from his pear-can coffee mug, handed Mellas the cup. Mellas gave a brief smile and took a drink. His hand was shaking. Hawke said in a calm voice, 'Something happened. You want to talk about it?' Mellas didn't answer right away. Then he said, 'I think I know where the gooks are.' He pulled out his map and pointed to the spot, his hand still trembling. 'How do you know that, Mel?' Hawke asked. 'From the direction he crawled after he was shot.' Mellas tossed the wallet down at Fitch. Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out the soldier's unit and rank patches. he looked at them, then at Fitch and Hawke, who were no longer eating. 'I let him crawl toward home with his guts hanging out.' He started sobbing. 'I just left him there.' Snot was streaming from his nose. 'I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.' His hands were now shaking with his body as he clenched the two pieces of cloth to his eyes.

Meditation is a death, a death of the ego. A meditator has to pass through a death. Meditation is the art of learning to die consciously. The spiritual teacher gives you meditation to die and to be reborn.

Meine mutige Kämpferin. Fight death with all you have.

Megan, I love you,. I will always love you." I swallowed hard. "Scared?" He asked. "Yeah. How about you?" "Even more than the first time," He said. "I know what it feels like to lose you." Then he bent his head and kissed me.

Meditation is a death, a death of the ego. There will be a rejoicement, a resurrection, but that will be a totally new, fresh original being. It happens in love, music, dance and creativity, that only for a small moment you slip out of your ego, your personality, and come in contact with your inner being, your individuality. But that happens only for a single moment, and then you are back again. In silence and meditation, you disappear. Then even if you resurrect you are a totally different person. You have to learn to live with fresh eyes, with a totally new heart.

Me, I'm living under a sword too, as Jack may have told you. An old wino's disease, which could lay me in the grave most anytime. Not that I mind too much; I've done everything I ever wanted to do. But ... as you know, one would like to continue doing the good things over and over again, so long as there's pleasure in it.

Memories of the past are what drive us, whether to a life of beauty or a life of insanity is up to us.

Memory is all I have now

Memory near oblivion. Far death

Memories fade when people do. History is changed as generations change. Moments can transcend boundaries. Moments can move past persons. Moments are eternal, in that they have a way of creating life themselves and living beyond each of us.

Me, Mia. Mama mia, Mia. Otis is rigor mortis.

Men are of little worth. Their brief lives last a single day. They cannot hold elusive pleasure fast; It melts away. All laurels wither; all illusions fade; Hopes have been phantoms, shade on air-built shade, since time began.

Men feared even the shade of Alexander, lest they encounter him again beneath the earth, for surely in that world, too, none would surpass him.

Menguraikan misteri ibarat mencari sebuah ruang dalam gedung kuno yang mahabesar. Gedung kuno yang sisa-sisa kemegahannya masih tampak, tanpa pemilik, dan ada sebuah ruang di dalamnya yang konon digunakan untuk menyimpan berbagai jejak kehidupan yang dijemput maut: pedang, pistol, tali tambang untuk gantung diri, tengkorak dan tulang-belulang, juga bau anyir darah. Begitu banyak ruang di gedung itu, tapi kunci-kuncinya berhamburan, bahkan ada yang hilang. Ia tak tahu ruang mana yang harus dibuka, bahkan tak tahu di mana akan menemukan kunci untuk membuka ruang yang tepat.

Men should think twice before making widowhood women's only path to power.

Men may perish, but the world will neither celebrate nor mourn. It will go on.' His smile thinned. 'Would you like to know how?' 'No.' 'Animals will swell to fill the void left by men," he told her. 'And over-swell it, perhaps. There will be other extinctions and other recoveries. The sky will clear, but those who see it will not marvel at its many colors. Those ruins will collapse, burying treasures like this-' He waved at the walls. '-and this-' He picked up the spoon from her coffee tray and tossed it down again with a clatter. '-forever, but the world will go on. Years become centuries so easily when no one is there to count them. Centuries become millennia. The forests will reclaim the lands that Men have razed. Rivers will carve canyons across the scars left by this fallen cities. Mountains will rise up, trapping seas to dry under and uncaring sun and leaving the bones of whales to bleach in the newborn deserts for no one to find, no one to be inspired by thoughts of giants and dragons. And still the worlds will go on, and I will go on with it through ages that can only be measured by the coming and going of glaciers. The stars themselves will shift in the heavens and no one will be there to invent names for their new alignments or remember the stories of the old ones, no one but me. In time, the sun itself will begin to cool. Here on Earth, the world goes on and on as its remaining life passes through its last changes and dies away. It will be quiet. And lonely.' His mouth curved into a bitter line. 'But I'll live.' 'Stop it,' Lan whispered through numb lips. 'I read once that the sun will someday swell and engulf this world before it burns itself out. Perhaps I will finally die with it. Or perhaps I' will continue to endure... my ashes pulled eternally apart through the frozen vacuum of space, and I with no more mouth to scream... still alive.

Mento mori—remember death! These are important words. If we kept in mind that we will soon inevitably die, our lives would be completely different. If a person knows that he will die in a half hour, he certainly will not bother doing trivial, stupid, or, especially, bad things during this half hour. Perhaps you have half a century before you die—what makes this any different from a half hour?

Messing with people's lives is quite honestly a lot of fun, but it's completely unacceptable for me to be on the receiving end like this. Why can't I decide how to live my own life? Isn't my existence as an individual the least I should be able to control?

Mercy might be the mark of a great man, but then so’s a tombstone.” – Extract from the personal memoirs of Dread Emperor Terribilis II

– Mi a halál? – folytatta anyám baljós vidámsággal. – Mit jelent meghalni? Hát először is: mi egy ember? Legnagyobb részben víz. Egyszerűen víz. Nincs az emberben semmi rendkívüli. Szén. A legegyszerűbb elem. Mit is mondanak? Kilencvennyolc százalék? Ennyi az egész. Az a figyelemre méltó, ahogy az egészet összerakták. Ahogy összerakták, hogy van szívünk meg tudónk. Van májunk. Hasnyálmirigyünk. Gyomrunk. Agyunk. És ez mind micsoda? Az elemek vegyülete! Vegyítsd őket – vegyítsd a vegyületet –, és megkapod az embert! Mondhatjuk rá, hogy Craig, az apád, vagy én vagyok. Pedig csak a vegyület, csak ezek az összerakott részek, amelyek valamilyen konkrét módon működnek, egyelőre. És aztán annyi történik, hogy az egyik rész elromlik, tönkremegy. Craig nagybátyád esetében a szív. És akkor azt mondjuk, Craig meghalt. Az ember meghalt. De csak mi látjuk így. A magunk emberi módján. Ha nem gondolkodnánk állandóan egyes emberekben, ha a természetre gondolnánk, ahogy az egész természet működik tovább, bár egyes részei meghalnak – na, nem is meghalnak, átváltoznak, ezt a szót kerestem, átváltoznak, átváltoznak valami mássá, mindaz a sok elem, amiből az illető ember állt, átváltozik, és visszatér a természetbe, és újra meg újra megjelenik madarak meg állatok meg virágok formájában – Craignek nem kell Craignek lennie! Craig lehet virág is!

Mijn vader huilde nooit. Als hij bedroefd was, liep hij naar de tempel van de onbekende heilige. Daar knielde hij naast het graf, tikte zachtjes met een steentje tegen de grafsteen, praatte met de heilige en als hij zich weer beter voelde, wandelde hij terug naar huis.

Millions of deaths would not have happened if it weren’t for the consumption of alcohol. The same can be said about millions of births.

Might not live long but I know I'ma die happy.

Michael could never remember his father ever having uttered a word about death, as if the Don respected death too much to philosophize about it.

Midnight" The hours glide Like drops of water on a window pane Midnight silence Fear unrolls in the air And the wind hides at the bottom of the well OH It's a leaf We think the earth is going to end Time stirs in the shadow Everyone is asleep A SIGH Inside the house someone has just died

Milkshakes make the world seem less shitty.

Mid-Term Break I sat all morning in the college sick bay Counting bells knelling classes to a close. At two o'clock our neighbours drove me home. In the porch I met my father crying— He had always taken funerals in his stride— And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow. The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram When I came in, and I was embarrassed By old men standing up to shake my hand And tell me they were 'sorry for my trouble'. Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest, Away at school, as my mother held my hand In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs. At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses. Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him For the first time in six weeks. Paler now, Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple, He lay in the four-foot box as in his cot. No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear. A four-foot box, a foot for every year.

Mientras cubría la distancia entre Sant Berger y mi casa, sentí que la negrura de la noche iba tiñendo mi alma. Sin que pudiera explicármelo, un malestar había empezado a roerme desde dentro como una fiera oculta. Me sentía huérfano de la vida.

Min aska kommer sprida värme.

Miłość, sen i śmierć nadchodzą pomału Schwyć mnie za włosy i mocno pocałuj.

Mirtis kvepėjo lietaus lašais pakelės lapuose.

Mine was the naïveté of the living; now it is the confusion and longing of the dead. Pray when I am finished with this tale, I will go on to something greater. Punishment even would have its shape, its purpose, some conviction of meaning. I cannot imagine eternal flames. But I can imagine eternal meaning.

Miranda rolls her eyes. "Passing over," she says. "That's nice. Is that anything like kicking the bucket? Keeling over, taking a dirt nap, biting the big one?

Misery is only better than death because you can rise from it.

Miranda was dark, like a midnight sky. But as she fell, her eyes shone like stars themselves.

Mine is a gruesome job, but for a scientist with a love for the mechanics of the human body, a great one.

Mis más trágicos recuerdos se levantaron en furioso oleaje. Creía que después de pasar por la experiencia de perderte ya nada podía afectarme demasiado, pero la mínima posibilidad de que algo semejante le ocurriera al hijo que me quedaba, me volteó. Tenía un peso en el pecho, como una roca aplastándome, que me cortaba la respiración. Me sentía vulnerable, en carne viva, a punto de llorar en cualquier instante. En la noche, cuando todos descansaban, oía un rumor entre las paredes, había quejidos atascados en los umbrales, suspiros en los cuartos desocupados. Era mi propio miedo, supongo. El dolor acumulado en ese largo año de tu agonía estaba agazapado en la casa.

Missing what most of the time? The babbling faceless agora, the fame, the parties, the pop of flash bulbs? The lovers, the gaiety, the champagne? The solitude carved out of celebrity, poring over charts by a single lamp on a wide desk in a venerable hotel? Room service, coffee before dawn? The company of one friend, two? The choice: All of it or not? Some or none? Now, not now, maybe later?

Mist lies over the river like the icy breath of winter angels. Darkness gathers round... and it is beautiful. Thank you for this life, this death, whatever it is you are that makes us finally see.

Mithorden said it well," she said finally. "It's worshipping death. They say they follow light. But, in the end, they're really following desolation, division, the end of things. You should hear their prophecies -- war, destruction, only special chosen people are spared." She felt sad and angry. Worse, she wondered to what ends people who believed these things would go to assert their views.

Missing Alina was worse than a terminal illness. At least when you were terminal you knew the pain was going to end eventually. But there was no light at the end of my tunnel. Grief was going to devour me, day into night, night into day, and although I might feel like I was dying from it, might even wish I was, I never would. I was going to have to walk around with a hole in my heart forever. I was going to hurt for my sister until the day I died. If you don't know what I mean or you think I'm being melodramatic, then you've never really loved anyone.

Modern man is drinking and drugging himself out of awarness, or he spends his time shopping, which is the same thing. As awarness calls for types of heroic dedication that his culture no longer provides for him, society contrives to help him forget. In the mysterious way in which life is given to us in evolution on this planet, it pushes in the direction of its own expansion. We don’t understand it simply because we don’t know the purpose of creation; we only feel life straining in ourselves and see it thrashing others about as they devour each other. Life seeks to expand in an unknown direction for unknown reasons. What are we to make of creation in which routine activity is for organisms to be tearing others apart with teeth of all types - biting, grinding flesh, plant stalks, bones between molars, pushing the pulp greedily down the gullet with delight, incorporating its essence into one’s own organization, and then excreting with foul stench and gasses residue. Everyone reaching out to incorporate others who are edible to him. The mosquitoes bloating themselves on blood, the maggots, the killer-bees attacking with a fury and a demonism, sharks continuing to tear and swallow while their own innards are being torn out - not to mention the daily dismemberment and slaughter in “natural” accidents of all types: an earthquake buries alive 70 thousand bodies in Peru, a tidal wave washes over a quarter of a million in the Indian Ocean. Creation is a nightmare spectacular taking place on a planet that has been soaked for hundreds of millions of years in the blood of all creatures. The soberest conclusion that we could make about what has actually been taking place on the planet about three billion years is that it is being turned into a vast pit of fertilizer. But the sun distracts our attention, always baking the blood dry, making things grow over it, and with its warmth giving the hope that comes with the organism’s comfort and expansiveness.

MISUNDERSTANDING" arises only when you see the things with Closed Eyes

Modern life seems set up so that we can avoid loneliness at all costs, but maybe it's worthwhile to face it occasionally. The further we push aloneness away, the less are we able to cope with it, and the more terrifying it gets. Some philosophers believe that loneliness is the only true feeling there is. We live orphaned on a tiny rock in the immense vastness of space, with no hint of even the simplest form of life anywhere around us for billions upon billions of miles, alone beyond all imagining. We live locked in our own heads and can never entirely know the experience of another person. Even if we're surrounded by family and friends, we journey into death completely alone.

Moksha – the liberation form, the web of maya be, Freedom from the cycles of birth and death clearly; - 33 -