Best 651 quotes in «dead quotes» category

Glorious death is a transition into heavenly glories; “purposeless life” is the cause of shameful death and shameful death is a transition to eternal doom!

Goo can't be return from dead person, revive him and you will see an evil thing. WHich isn't really that the person... (Pet Semetary 1 by Stephen King)

Granny looked up at the zombie. He was - or, technically, had been - a tall, handsome man. He still was, only now he looked like someone who had walked through a room full of cobwebs. 'What's your name, dead man?' she said.

Good by-aye!" she chanted, my American sweet immortal dead love; for she is dead and immortal if you are reading this.

Gold once out of the earth is no more due unto it; what was unreasonably committed to the ground, is reasonably resumed from it; let monuments and rich fabricks, not riches, adorn men's ashes. The commerce of the living is not to be transferred unto the dead; it is not injustice to take that which none complains to lose, and no man is wronged where no man is possessor.

Great; I get to be told I am dead all over again. -Stomfur

Graveyards exist because death exists? No! Graveyards exist because we want to know precisely the place of our dead!

Gray. The overcast skies had the colour of deadened stones, and seemed closer than usually, as though they were phlegmatically observing my every movement with their apathetic emptily blue-less eyes; each tiny drop of hazy rain drifting around resembled transparent molten steel, the pavement looked like it was about to burst into disconsolate tears, even the air itself was gray, so ultimate and ubiquitous that colour was everywhere around me. Gray...

Half awake and almost dead. But yet we were breathing and yet we were waiting... Waiting for a miracle to happen.

Había recibido cinco balazos. Desconocedor feliz de la muerte, un gato de lo más ordinario lo rondaba con cierta perplejidad.

Happiness is the province of those who ask few questions.

Have a look around, my pretty, we are surrounded by Death in all forms – just the two of us are still alive –

Good thing I'm aging, otherwise I'd be dead.

Good thing we weren't here when this happened," Fred added. "We'd be pancakes - DEAD ones!

HECUBA: I had a knife in my skirt, Achilles. When Talthybius bent over me, I could have killed him. I wanted to. I had the knife just for that reason. Yet, at the last minute I thought, he's some mother's son just as Hector was, and aren't we women all sisters? If I killed him, I thought, wouldn't It be like killing family?Wouldn't it be making some other mother grieve? So I didn't kill him, but if I had, I might have saved Hector's child. Dead or damned, that's the choice we make. Either you men kill us and are honored for it, or we women kill you and are damned for it. Dead or damned. Women don't have to make choices like that in Hades. There is no love there, nothing to betray.

He didn’t want to see any more reminders of dead friends.

He fell backwards from the force of the shots, but he did not die, for how can you kill what is already dead?

He glanced nervously over his shoulder with a remarkable pair of codfish eyes. 'Like a ’orrid movie I saw once in Canarsie. Bunch o’ lunks set off on a cruise to nowhere, just like this, and wot do you suppose they all was?' 'What?' 'Dead.' 'How?' 'Dead as mutton, only they didn’t know it.

He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not here to start trouble. I am just doing some research for my thesis.” “If you don’t get out of this bar, you are going to be writing your thesis via Ouija board.

He just summoned the dead with coke and cheeseburgers

he knew in his body, even if he hadn’t yet put it together in his mind, that in America the worst thing you could be was a black man. Worse than dead, you were a dead man walking.

He looked exactly the same when he was alive, only he was vertical.

He looked out over the shirtless, muscled, tanned men and realised that right here, on this disco floor, there was such a concentration of fashion, slimming, money, bleaching, plastic surgery, psychotherapy – and all for naught. In a few years they’d all be old walruses, and in a few more, dead.

Here it is necessary briefly to consider the question of the cult of ancestors before venturing farther. The spirits of the departed are believed to be possessed of supernatural powers which they did not enjoy in the flesh. They may also be dissatisfied or malignant in consequence of being suddenly deprived of life, and if they are neglected by the living, are apt to be revengeful. Therefore they must be cajoled and propitiated. Fear of beings belonging to a mysterious state or sphere of which he knew nothing continually haunted and terrified primitive man and induced in him what is known as" the dread of the sacred." It was every man's personal duty to attend to the demands or requirements of his deceased ancestors. At first he would succour his own immediate forebears with food and gifts; but it must have been borne in upon him that when his parents joined the great majority, the care of the spirits of their parents likewise devolved upon him... and, by degrees, he might even come to regard himself as responsible for the well-being of a line of spirit ancestors of quite formidable genealogy. These, through his neglect, might starve in their tombs; or, alternatively, they might crave his company. Because of vengeance or loneliness they might send disease upon him, for the savage almost invariably believes illness to be brought about by the action of jealous or neglected ancestors. The loneliness of the spirit-world is the dead man's greatest excuse for desiring the company of his descendants.

Here's the thing," he said. "People see me as a bridge. I'm not as alive as I used to be, but I'm not yet dead. I'm sort of...in-between

Her voice was small and distant, like she’d already left the room.

He's looking at the wall and at the floor and at the bedsheets and at the way his knuckles look when he clenches his fist but no not at me he won't look at me and his next words are so, so soft. "Because they're dead, love. They're all dead.

He spiked the dirt, twisted out the deformed rose, tossed it aside. His palms sweated. 'Sorry,' Persephone suggested. 'Pardon?' She murmured, 'You should say sorry when you kill something.' It took him a moment to realize she meant the rose. 'It was dying anyway.' 'Dying and dead are different words.' Shamed, Adam muttered an apology....

He steals dreams from her dead eyes every night and pens them down into his diary with his tears.

He was dead and he would not be getting up, again.

He was in Guanajuato, Mexico, he was a writer, and tonight was the Day of the Dead ceremony. He was in a little room on the second floor of a hotel, a room with wide windows and a balcony that overlooked the plaza where the children ran and yelled each morning. He heard them shouting now. And this was Mexico's Death Day. There was a smell of death all through Mexico you never got away from, no matter how far you went. No matter what you said or did, not even if you laughed or drank, did you ever get away from death in Mexico. No car went fast enough. No drink was strong enough. ("The Candy Skull")

His eyes were like two wafers of slate, grey and lifeless.

Horace, like all dogs, heard dead-voices quite often, and sometimes saw their owners. The dead were all around, but living people saw them no more than they could smell most of the ten thousand aromas that surrounded them every minute of every day.

How can you kill a man who'd already been dead for years?

How could someone like me survive a plane crash? I didn't look like someone who could do that. I wasn't someone who could do that Maybe I hadn't Maybe I was dead. Maybe I was l was lying on the ground somewhere, rain falling over me, into my open eyes. I looked at myself in the mirror and didn't see anything. I didn't see me.

How could we have been afraid of her? She was only dead. It’s the living we fear.

How do you feel when you read stuff written by dead authors? A visit by a ghost?

How fortunate, then, that we serve a God who quickens the dead. Who breathes life into the lifeless. Do you not think that a God who formed man out of dust can form a new creation in you?

How quickly the dead faded into each other,

Hunter’s dead,” Taylor said without preamble. “It was these . . . these things. They came crawling up out of him and were eating him, oh God, I mean, it was like . . . I mean he was crying and Dekka prayed with him and he tried to fry his own brain just like he did with Harry only I guess it didn’t work, I guess he couldn’t do it, so Sam . . .” She swallowed. “Anyone have some water?” “What about Sam?” Astrid demanded. “He did it for him. Sam. I mean, he . . . Hunter was, you know . . . so Sam.” She pantomimed raising her hands, like Sam, like he would do when using his power. Astrid closed her eyes and crossed herself. “Rest in peace,” Edilio said and crossed himself as well. “Sam burned the boy?” Howard asked. Then, bitterly sarcastic said, “Yeah, you all pray to Jesus. Because Jesus is really providing a lot of help here. Sounds to me like Sam was the one doing what had to be done.

I am dead and despise anyone who isn’t

I am not worried about dying, what I am worried about is not living

I am only a human.                                       I plot. I scheme. I believe my own lies.       I err. I sin. I look the other way even if something inside me dies.                             I get away with almost everything.               Why?                                                                 Because I am only a human.

I believe in one that all people are dreaming. This now, past and future is just a long dream, some people wake up by dieing, other by suicide everything is about a choice. But the people which are dead in our world, there aren't dead in the other they are still alive and watching us and they are smiling at us and they want we to make our choice. To think then to do it!

I can’t believe our entire tour is being taken out, one by one, all because of some stupid virus. We’ll probably all be dead by the time the day tour starts.

I can’t look people in the eye and tell them that they’re going to die anymore.

I can't understand why dark northern soldiers and light ones are seperated into different brigades. The dead are all buried together in hasty mass graves, bones touching.

Ich bin jemand, der ich nicht bin ich gehe, aber ich weiß nicht, wohin ich fühle, aber ich weiß nicht, was ich will lieber tot sein als DAS

I decided to stay in bed until noon. Maybe by then half the world would be dead and it would only be half as hard to take.

I do not worship a DEAD and buried Christ at Calvary. I worship a ressurected and LIVING Christ in Heaven! Jesus Christ is alive.