Best 651 quotes in «dead quotes» category

In this world, people always find a way of doing what they want

I often think about this, that is, I imagine to myself that here is Vera, dead, totally motionless, lying on the table, in a coffin... and I too, of course can no longer live. But for some reason this gives me pleasure, a terrible amount of pleasure to imagine so the one I love: earlier I imagined grandmother and then my fiance in this manner, even my favorite animals, Sparky our cat with the fiery bursts of red on his gray-black fur. ("Thirty-Three Abominations")

I owe more to the dead, with whom I will spend a much longer time, than I will ever owe to the living.

Isabelle! he called again. Let down your raven hair. Oh, my God, Clary muttered. There was something in that blood Raphael gave you, wasn't there? I'm going to kill him. He's already dead, Simon observed. He's undead. Obviously he can still die, you know, again. I'll re-kill him.

I see ghosts like you see a normal person. Looking regular, tangible as ever and even more alive than most of the people you’ll see walking around the streets.

I should have asked, I guess,” he says. “I shouldn’t have assumed.” “What?” He rotates around on his butt to face me. Me on the sofa, him on the floor, looking up. “That I was going with you.” “What? We weren’t even talking about that! And why would you want to go with me, Evan? Since you think he’s dead?” “I just don’t want you to be dead, Cassie.

I sit alone in a dead world. The wind blows hot and dry, and the dust gathers like particles of memory waiting to be swept away. I pray for forgetfulness, yet my memory remains strong, as does the outstretched arm of the oppressive air. It seems as if the wind has been there since the beginning of the nightmare. Sometimes loud and harsh, a thousand sharp needles scratching at my reddened skin. Sometimes a whisper, a curious sigh in the black of night, of words more frightening than pain. I know now the wind has been speaking to me. Only I couldn't understand because I was too scared. I am scared now as I write these words. Still, there is nothing else to do.

Is it true, then, Mayor?" Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton warbled from the end of the counter. "Is Jesse Tatum officially dead?" "Dead is such an unflattering term," he said, sliding onto his stool. "I prefer to think of Jesse as... passe." The Azalea Women gasped. "What's passe mean?" Tinks Williams asked the Colonel, his voice low. "Dead," the Colonel said, refilling Tink's iced tea.

Someone called him. Someone who seems to have set the whole things up, someone who knew me, my name." I looked at Liam. "Who is it?" He choked on a laugh. "Seriously? I just died. Your boyfriend there killed me. You really expect me to stick around and chat? Love to, but I'm a little traumatized right now. Maybe later.

I spend more time with the living, than the dead now.

Is there any hope for the dead?

It goes without saying that even those of us who are going to hell will get eternal life—if that territory really exists outside religious books and the minds of believers, that is. Having said that, given the choice, instead of being grilled until hell freezes over, the average sane human being would, needless to say, rather spend forever idling in an extremely fertile garden, next to a lamb or a chicken or a parrot, which they do not secretly want to eat, and a lion or a tiger or a crocodile, which does not secretly want to eat them.

I think ghostliness is a good quality. I pretend I'm dead all the time." "What?" He stopped rummaging through his locker to look at me full in the face a last. "It helps me go to sleep," I said. "That shows you don't know anything about death," Jonah said. "Do you?" I asked. He hesitated before saying "I'm a g-g-g-ghost, aren't I?" "I think being dead might be nice. Restful." "Death is not restful. It's nothing." "That's what seems restful to me," I said. "The nothing. Not being here. Not being anywhere.

It had been a couple of years and I was neither dead, nor undead, which I ranked as an achievement.

I think the best shaped box ever on earth is a coffin which can be handmade to escort the forever numb-hands.

It is important not to turn the dead into saints. Nobody can walk in the shadow of a saint.

I thought if I loved you enough I could change you. I was so stupid.

It is a subliminal thing. It is the tick of a clock that has ticked so long one no longer notices. Something is in a room when a man lives in it. Something is not in the room when a man is dead in it.

It is difficult to put words to the smell of decomposing human. It is dense and cloying, sweet but not flower-sweet. Halfway between rotting fruit and rotting meat.

I thought about how everyone always seemed slightly uncomfortable when discussing their fathers in front of me. They always seemed worried I'd be reminded of my fatherlessness, as if I could somehow forget.

It is childish to eat primarily or only to please your tongue.

It is everything that makes a man. It is everything that makes this man. And that is who I am alive, and that is who I am dead.

It’s a cruel joke of the universe that the one person who makes me come alive is himself dead. And evil. His very existence defies all moral laws and all known laws of physics.” ~Juliette

It is perhaps rather fine, after all, being dead. Highly underrated in the modern western world.

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

It's hard to run from checkmate, checkmate is like the dead... but it's possible to block it. Unfortunately dead you can't block it, but checkmate can be blocked, in such way so the player can't make it.

It's easy to write history. All the eyewitnesses are dead.

It's easy to write the history. All the eyewitnesses are dead.

It's ironic that stars are dead, yet still manage to light up the sky.

It's not good to dig in the past, raise the ghost up from the grave, and have it walk with the flesh.

It’s not as easy as you’d think, burning a dead creature. Flesh and skin want to cook and crisp and char rather than ignite.

It’s not about winning, it’s about doing what’s right. And yes, we will do what’s right.

It's not unreal to me yet, though it might get that way soon. It still feels very real. And not even horrible -- the dead are just the dead. I am convinced that the living people they once were would have been proud of their protective bodies hoodwinking their murderers to save someone else. [..] But it's not civilized. There is something indecent about it -- really foully indecent. The civilized Rose-person in me, who still seems to exist beneath the layers of filth, knows this. [..] I have become so indifferent about the dead.

It’s why we close the eyes, too. The dead shouldn’t have to look on the lewd aliveness of the living.

It's sad that several political parties still count the dead, the starving, the unemployed by their religion, caste, creed and sect. The young generation needs to engage in politics of right vs wrong and not right vs left.

I turned to her, my whole body hard with tiredness and regret.

It wasn’t one event, but a series of events followed by years of research adjudicated by panels of experts and committees of laypeople until a decision was finally made: we’ve been going about handling dead people all wrong.

It was a high ceilinged room with tall, large-panes windows. Apart from the doorway was the desk where book had been checked out in days when books were still being checked out. He stood there for a moment looking around the silent room, shaking his head slowly. All these books, he thought, the residue of a planet's intellect, the scrapings of futile minds, the leftovers, the potpourri of artifacts that had no power to save men from perishing.

It wasn't the first time Moss had heard the pop of a gunshot. Nor was it the first time he'd heard the sickening sound of air leaving someone's body. The sound meant the worst.

I understood that to live is to be free ... that to have friends is necessary ... that to fight is to stay alive ... that to be happy you just need to want ... I learned that time heals ... that the grudge disappears ... that disappointment does not kill ... that today is a reflection of yesterday. I understood that we can cry without shedding tears ... that true friends remain ... what a pain strengthens ... what to win magnifies... I learned that dreaming is not fantasize ... that to smile you have to make someone smile ... that beauty is not what we see, but what we feel ... that the value is in the strength of achievement ... I realized that words have power ... that to accomplish is better than to talk ... that the look does not lie ... that living is learning from mistakes ... I learned that everything depends on the will ... that the best is to be ourselves ... that the SECRET of life is LIVE! " "And one of the things I learned is that one should live though. Although, one must eat. Although, we must love. Although, it must die. Even it is often the very although that pushes us forward. It was the despite of that gave me an anguish that unsatisfied was breeder my own life.

I’ve always believed that talking to the dead is sometimes easier than talking to the living.” She shrugged at his questioning look. “They listen better.

I’ve got money!” Eve exclaimed in a frantic frenzy of hope, her eyes dancing wildly with the notion that there was some way out of this. “I mean, I don’t know what use money is to the Grim Reaper, but I’ve got a ton of cash! It’s in a hat box under my bed! I’ve got a bright red Lexus in the garage, I’ve got my engagement ring upstairs, it’s real gold… there must be something we can trade off with…” “You can’t bribe me away, I’m afraid,” said Mr. Azrael. “Money means nothing where I come from.

I was beginning to agree with the thesis that some truths were better off dead. And buried.

I wanted to see the bullet coming, wanted to know the exact moment of my death.

I was a woman who thought of dead things. All the time. I couldn’t help it.

I wasn't about to admit to him that I'd never had a boyfriend. You just don't go around saying things like that to totally hot guys, even if they're dead.

I was recently living more comfortably surrounded by secrets... Like dozens of luxurious satiny pillows, they were embracing me from all directions into safe lulling warmth, thus isolating me from the sharp dead-cold edges of the truth hiding behind their endearingly smooth textures and tender soothing colours. Secrets could be so irresistibly beautiful...

I was a spectator who had gotten free admission to a freak show.

I was one of those unfortunates adopted by upper middle-class professionals and nurtured in an environment of learning, art and a socio-religious culture steeped in more than 2000 years of Talmudic tradition. Not everyone is lucky enough to have been raised in a whiskey tango trailer park by a bow-legged female whose sole qualification for motherhood is a womb that happened to catch a sperm of a passing truck driver.

I weep fer the livin. I weep fer the dead. I weep fer the yet to be born.