Best 9776 quotes in «death quotes» category

The girl in the video is a reminder about how fragile our hold on sanity and health is and how much we are at the utter whim of our Brutus bodies, which will inevitably, on day, turn on us for good. I am a prisoner, as we all are. And with that realization comes an aching sense of vulnerability.

the gods play no favorites.

the God who holds everything together, that God is nothing more than time itself. Not a thinking, acting entity, a physical law. With which one can negotiate as little as one can with one's own fate. God is time, and time is not merciful. We are born, and our life is already trickling away like the sand in an hourglass. Death is forever inevitably before us. Our fate is nothing but a concatenation of cause and effect. In light and in shadow.

The gospel is the announcement that God has fulfilled the promise of Scriptures to make the world right in Jesus Christ (1 Cor 15:1-11). Christ has died for our sins. By his death and resurrection (and ascension), he has defeated the effects of our sins, including death itself. He now sits at the right hand of the Father ruling over the world. In Christ the new creation has begun. Old things are passing away. Behold, the new has begun (2 Cor 5:17). All who respond to this good news repent of the old ways, and make Jesus their Lord and Savior, enter in and become part of what God is doing to reconcile the whole world to himself (2 Cor 5:18-19), and receive power to become the children of God (Jn 1:12). This in one paragraph is the gospel.

The government (or humanity) would not permit capital punishment for one man, but they permitted the murder of millions a little at a time.

The good people never die." "What do you mean?" Sky glanced at Leon. He was staring straight ahead and he looked really sad. She wondered if he'd lost someone too. "They live on in the things they said and did - they live on inside of us.

The gospel of miracle that we preach promotes death and encourages corruption.

The grain of evil seed had been sown in the heart of Adam from the beginning, and how much ungodliness had it brought up unto this time? and how much shall it yet bring forth until the time of threshing come?

The grave is not a final destination of man but just a resting place for a while.

The greatest danger, of course, was to believe that I was equal to them, because assurance can morph into arrogance that Death loves to prove unfounded.

The graveyard is an everlasting resting place.

The graveyard is the everlasting home of every man.

THE GREAT DEATH I stood at the back of the funeral room. Very still. Black dress. Black coat. It’s cold. Purposely alone. Ears closed. Not wanting to hear the tirade of sweet lies. Did they not know you were already dead? I think they did. They walk with the dignity of a funeral crowd into the tea room. I can see them chatting happily through the window. “What a fantastic guy he was. Cheese or meat sandwich?” I sit outside, next to you. No one can see. No one bothers to look. Sinking to fresh earth, I ask you why you did that to yourself. Why did you cling to that which fed you a slow poison? Why did you betray that which was guard to your soul? There is no reply. The words get taken by the chill wind. You cry in your sleep. The tears never see the light of day. The sadness is not this death. You are not even dead. You are just over there. The sadness is the other death – the death that doesn’t end. The one that follows behind, ever present with its grey, hollow touch. Walk a bit further. There is a different land not far away. The people in it have the magic to break the icy fingers of the great death. I heard that you don’t even have to pay. However, you have to find their door. It is only found by those who pay the other price.

The graveyard is every man final resting place.

The graveyard is not the final resting place of our dear departed but an ephemeral repository of their remains. The real graveyard, however, is somewhere deep in our heart, where we can always visit them at any time of the day, talk about some unforgettable summers, or cry in solitude as if they were always there for us to stay. And should our twilight come, when we can no longer see the light of the day, some people dear to us will build a graveyard in their hearts. They will let us stay for a while or perhaps longer, as long as they continue to remember, but it does not matter anymore. What is comforting to know, no matter how tragic or tranquil our death may be, somewhere somehow someone will always build a sublime place for us to stay. (Danny Castillones Sillada, The Graveyard In Our Heart)

The greatest fear, I sometimes think, is that we are trapped: in bodies, in rooms, in time. Or the greatest fear is that we are not - that we can spill wide open. If one is, as Kafka says, dead in one's own lifetime, the heart thuds a traitorous song: alive, alive.

The greatest loss is the loss of life.

The greatest legacy a father can leave for his children before he departs is PEACE, otherwise his properties will go in PIECES sooner that he dies.

The greatest loss is the lost of life.

The greatest futility! says the congregator, "The greatest futility! Everything is futile!" What does a person gain from all his hard work- At which he toils under the sun? A generation goes and another cometh forth, but the earth remains the same.

The greatest happiness is a quiet kind. It’s the tender understanding that we’re living in a very strange place full of strange creatures. And there’s quite a bit of wonder in that.

The greatest lesson I have learned in life is that life is worth dying for.

The greatest moments in our lives occur when we surrender: birth, love, and death.

The greatest tragedies in life is not untimely death, but to live a life for emptiness

The Great Stone at the center of the Somme memorial has this inscription: “Their name liveth for evermore.” The memorial contains 73,077 names, the names of young men who were robbed of life. Note that we often say that they gave their lives, but of course, this is not true; their lives were taken from them. It is not outrageous to consider the carving of their names and the false promise of “evermore” another act of violence.

The greatest tragedy is not death but a life without love

The great lie can only be defeated by the New World Order. The sooner the New World Order is established by the institutions of the world, the sooner the suffering caused by the lie will end.

The greatest violence, and the greatest threat to humanity, is the growth of MONEY.

The great lie is like a sword that has been thrust into the heart of humankind.

The great lie that science has given us is that reality is material.

The guardsmen dragged him to the Detour; the mules they had ridden were there. The corpse was buried near here or the buzzards ate it. The authorities were laughing as they left. One could see the laughter in their eyes, the only place where they are allowed to laugh. Because the authorities cannot laugh. It is prohibited; at least they never laugh with their mouths. They're made to denounce, interrogate and capture. Laughing is a weakness. They themselves say, 'Laughter abounds among fools.' An official must not show any weakness before a civilian, otherwise he'll thereby lose precisely his authority. The authorities are short on words; they don't want to lose their strength by speaking to civilians. They act. That's the only way they can defend property, which is sacred. That's why many of them are paid by landowners. How big a bonus they get depends on how well they behave.

The guillotine is the ultimate expression of Law, and its name is vengeance; it is not neutral, nor does it allow us to remain neutral. All social questions achieve their finality around that blade. The scaffold is an image. It is not merely a framework, a machine, a lifeless mechanism of wood, iron, and rope. It is as though it were a being having its own dark purpose, as though the framework saw, the machine listened, and the mechanism understood; as though that arrangement of wood and iron and rope expressed a will. In the hideous picture which its presence evokes it seems to be most terribly a part of what it does. It is the executioner's accomplice; it consumes, devouring flesh and drinking blood. It is a kind of monster created by the judge and the craftsman; a spectre seeming to live an awful life born of the death it deals.

The harder you search the more troubled you become.

The grey of a bitter, starved-looking morning. The town like a mortally wounded creature, torn by shells, gashed open by bombs. Dead streets - streets of death - death in streets and their houses; yet people still able to sleep and still sleeping.

The guillotine is the masterpiece of the plastic arts Its click Creates perpetual motion ("The Head")

The heart aches in brokenness as daylight awakens the pain of knowing.

The Harlots cry from Street to Street Shall weave Old Englands winding Sheet The Winners Shout the Losers Curse Dance before dead Englands Hearse

The Heaven of Animals Here they are. The soft eyes open. If they have lived in a wood It is a wood. If they have lived on plains It is grass rolling Under their feet forever. Having no souls, they have come, Anyway, beyond their knowing. Their instincts wholly bloom And they rise. The soft eyes open. To match them, the landscape flowers, Outdoing, desperately Outdoing what is required: The richest wood, The deepest field. For some of these, It could not be the place It is, without blood. These hunt, as they have done, But with claws and teeth grown perfect, More deadly than they can believe. They stalk more silently, And crouch on the limbs of trees, And their descent Upon the bright backs of their prey May take years In a sovereign floating of joy. And those that are hunted Know this as their life, Their reward: to walk Under such trees in full knowledge Of what is in glory above them, And to feel no fear, But acceptance, compliance. Fulfilling themselves without pain At the cycle’s center, They tremble, they walk Under the tree, They fall, they are torn, They rise, they walk again.

The heart of a man is a small thing but it desires great matters. It is not big enough for a dog’s dinner but the whole world is not big enough for it. Man spares nothing that lives; he kills to feed himself, he kills to clothe himself, he kills to adorn himself, he kills to attack, he kills to defend himself, he kills to instruct himself, he kills to amuse himself, he kills for the sake of killing. From the lamb he tears its guts and makes his harp resound; from the wolf his most deadly tooth to polish his pretty works of art; from the elephant his tusks to make a toy for his child.(...)And who will exterminate him who exterminates all others?

The human body can be placed under huge stresses before death will result.

The hidden time is an eternity that runs through every moment. It is all-time. The hidden time is a thread, and moments are the beads on the thread.

The huge cop funerals with the uniforms and American flags only pound the reality of the loss in deeper. You see all those cops lined up coming to pay their respects and you feel proud for a moment, but then the pain hits you like a sledgehammer. You ask why, but there is never a good enough reason.

The human animal is a beast that dies and if he's got money he buys and buys and buys and I think the reason he buys everything he can buy is that in the back of his mind he has the crazy hope that one of his purchases will be life everlasting!--Which it never can be....

The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our separate ways, I to die, and you to live. Which of these two is better only God knows.

The humans create life, and senselessly cause death. For nothing.

The human mind is so limited it can only build an arbitrary heaven — and usually the physical comforts they endow it with are naively the kind that can be perceived as we humans perceive — nothing more. No: perhaps I will awake to find myself burning in hell. I think not. I think I will be snuffed out. Black is sleep; black is a fainting spell; and black is death, with no light, no waking.

The human body is robust. It can gather strength when it's in mortal danger.

The human heart is surely a deep, closed, blood-filled pit. When it opens, all the thirsting, inconsolable shades we have loved run to drink and be revived; they grow continually denser around us, blackening the air. Why do they run to drink the blood of our hearts? Because they realize that no other resurrection exists. (Report to Greco)

The human race will last. Everywhere and forever, for it will never be sane and only insanity is divine. Only the mad destroy themselves and all they have wrought. And only the phoenix lives forever.

The idea that all souls are mortal is the only notion surely terminating love and all its forms.