Best 43 quotes in «deathbed quotes» category

When you lose someone untimely; all left is never ending guilt, fear, and pain.

Why when people are on their deathbed, they finally come to terms with life?

If this is dying, I don't think much of it.

Arnold Bennett was a writer I admired. He was actually taking notes at his father's deathbed.

Fame can never make us lie down contentedly on a deathbed.

I have yet to hear of anyone who, on his deathbed, wished he'd spent more time at the office.

Let no man's deathbed be a futon.

Many people don't realise until they are on their deathbed and everything external falls away that no thing ever had anything to do with who they are.

When you're on your deathbed you probably aren't counting the movies you've made.

Never cosign a loan. Once you have cosigned, you cannot get out of it - even on your deathbed.

We are all kitsch on our deathbeds.

Shuffling really isn't something you should be doing on your deathbed.

When I'm on my deathbed, I'll hopefully be able to count more friends than parts that I had.

At the end of life, nobody knows where the spirit goes.

A moment later the music began, and Kate shrank beneath the onslaught of its message: the fury of hope and joy that towered in the notes, outburning the sunlight and outpouring the volumes of the sea. All that was bold and noble and happy in created sound burst from the metempirical quills, and it was a blasphemy not to rejoice. Christian died in its midst, purposeful and successful; the last struggle unseen by anyone but Kate, and laying no bridle on the living.

As the tide of life recedes, and the crest of foam scatters to the wind, all that's left on the sand are dying bubbles of dreams and wishes...

Almost universally, when people look back on their lives while on their deathbed [...] they wish they had spent more time with the people and activities they truly loved and less time worrying about aspects of life that, upon deeper examination, really don't matter at all that much. Imagining yourself at your own funeral allows you to look back at your life while you still have the chance to make some important changes.

Death is the awesome gift given by god....But when its natural

Das Leben geht weiter. Manchmal fragte ich mich, ob diese Tatsache nicht das Grausamste an unserem Dasein ist. Nicht der Tod und die ihm vorausgehenden Schmerzen, sondern der Fakt, dass ganz gleich, welche Schicksalschläge das Leben für uns bereithält, die Uhren niemals innehalten. Nicht einmal für einen Wimpernschlag. Dabei hat das Universum doch alle Zeit der Welt. Wäre der Unfalltod eines Menschen nicht viel einfacher zu ertragen, wenn sämtliche Autos für einen Moment stehen blieben? Wenn die Wellen, die das Kind ertränkten, nicht mehr rauschten? Nur für eine kurze Zeit, wenigstens die Trauerfeier über, bis der Sarg sich in das Grab gesenkt hätte. Wird uns die Bedeutungslosigkeit unseres Daseins nicht alleine dadurch gewiss gemacht, dass wir neben dem Totenbett eines geliebten Menschen im Krankenhaus stehen und gleichzeitig vor den Fenstern das Lachen spielender Kinder im Park hören könnten? Das Leben geht immer weiter. Immer.

Decay spread in me low and high, Organ by organ, I see myself beginning to die, Not a single hour passes by without reducing part of me away. In obedience to self-desires all done, My youth fortune and strength all gone, And, only now, when moribund, did I remember to obey Allah!! Indeed we did misbehave, totally misbehaved Yet, Ya Allah grant us forgiveness, clemency and pardon

Dreams, just dreams, it's all illusion

Each man lives in his own universe and when he dies the world is over

God preserve me from growing wise! Yes, I intend to mumble toothlessly to my deathbed bystanders: God preserve me from growing wise!

His discontent stemmed from dislike rather than appreciation for the hardness growing in him, and the fear that in another ten years he would not recognise himself. The fear that in another twenty, he would not even remember that any doubt had disturbed him. And that in some distant future, age and death would find him—the first person in history to utter on his deathbed: I wish I’d spent more time at the office.

I love you. If you remember nothing else for the rest of your life, if you fall and hit your head and can’t remember my name, if you get so sick you’re unrecognizable, if you hate me, if you’re on your deathbed and can’t manage to even lift a finger — remember this. I. Love. You. Always. Forever. Eternally. Is that kind of love something you can handle, Saylor?

I fear death. I think I must learn to romanticize death so that I can cope with its brutal irreversible numbness...!

If you have few days to live your life, what will be your passion for last days?

It is a dreadful thing to wait and watch for the approach of death; to know that hope is gone, and recovery impossible; and to sit and count the dreary hours through long, long, nights - such nights as only watchers by the bed of sickness know. It chills the blood to hear the dearest secrets of the heart, the pent-up, hidden secrets of many years, poured forth by the unconscious helpless being before you; and to think how little the reserve, and cunning of a whole life will avail, when fever and delirium tear off the mask at last. Strange tales have been told in the wanderings of dying men; tales so full of guilt and crime, that those who stood by the sick person's couch have fled in horror and affright, lest they should be scared to madness by what they heard and saw; and many a wretch has died alone, raving of deeds, the very name of which, has driven the boldest man away. ("The Drunkard's Death")

It's a harrowing experience to see death approaching in haste towards you, what is hell but confronting your own mortality

It's weird, all you think about when you're young is gaining your independence, but when those final hours come, people want to go home.

Love was holding someone's hand when you wanted to escape.

No human on his deathbed ever regretted having spent too much time with his children ❤️

It was human nature. You didn't give everything away; if you did, you would have nothing left. There were those who took the view that there was a liberation in the act of confession, but mostly they tended to be the ones who were listening, and not the ones confessing. The only full confessions occur on deathbeds; all others are partial, modified.

I will miss myself in relation to others. The rareness. The exceptional differences. I will miss the gift that comes with hardship and paying the price. I will miss the tragedy of my own life. As I once spoke...emphatically, but I now repeat here, quietly—the pain, the pain is what made it so God damn beautiful. I endured. You can wait a lifetime for thirty seconds, five minutes, or for an hour to come into your life—a brief interval that makes all the suffering purposeful. In such moments of splendor and rapture—even if the rapture be stilled, the private hours and years of reckoning are unloaded, a burden lifted and the spirit feels as it did on the happiest day of its life when it was young and untormented Or rather, unconscious of the torment waiting to be ignited.

Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est. (Applaud, my friends, the comedy is over.) [Said on his deathbed]

Sad truth is. . . we all end up alone on some death bed. Yeah? No way to take anybody else's place and no way we can be lying on the same one.” I was at the edge of the white-wed cloth. My shoes filled with concrete, as did my head, looking at the empty shell of what was once a woman full of wonder. “Any way to make someone feel not so alone?” she asked. “The only thing anyone can ever do is help someone feel a little less lonely before they get there.” “How does someone do that?” “Memories. Help create memories. Better ones. Ones to replace the old.

The greatest loss is the loss of life.

We die a day at a time

Tvert imot.

The world slides, the world goes, and death makes equal the rich and the poor

We all want to become more than we are, we want to live forever, that is why we hate death and create the afterlife.

When Olivier had been taken away Gamache had sat back down and stared at the sack. what could be worse than Chaos, Despair, War? What would even the Mountain flee from? Gamache had given it a lot of thought. What haunted people even, perhaps especially, on their deathbed? What chased them, tortured them and brought some of them to their knees? And Gamache thought he had the answer. Regret. Regret for things said, for things done, and not done. Regret for the people they might have been. And failed to be. Finally, when he was alone, the Chief Inspector had opened the sack and looking inside had realize he'd been wrong. The worst thing of all wasn't regret.

What would I have wanted to say if I had had the opportunity to see him one more time? I would like to think that I would have kept it simple and said, “I love you,” then just held his hand in silence, letting that thought linger in the space of the time we had left together.