Dead Quotes - Page 8

Death is more meaningful than just being dead.

they say every living thing requires proper nutrition to survive, they also say music is food for the soul, if that was true i would hav been long dead, hence proved that the soul which survive on music is not a soul but a desire and desires don't die until killed, we should be concerned about the soul which will be held accountable after our deaths, we should make sure our soul is not on dieting now a days

Time is one ramp putting you in the place going down by bus, but if you decide on this stop to stop and to run backward you will be there, but in different time and day... But this what has happen makes a big scar, look me my father is dead 25 days + 3 = 28 days from his dead, he suicided 27, so yesterday was the 27 day…

We live for our unfulfilled dreams when we are alive. Our fulfilled dreams live for us when we are gone!

Why is it that people talk about death, as if it is a part of life, when it is entirely separate? Someone passes on into the never ending void, where the living aren't allowed. We can't see, hear, touch or feel those who have succumbed to the eternal sleep, but we comfort ourselves with thoughts of a grander plan. We tell ourselves that they are in a better place, but what could be greater than breathing the same air, as those loved ones? Their pain may be gone, but pleasure can only be when it is stark against the hurt that life brings?

I have a swizzle stick shaped like a little monkey,” announced Rose. “Let’s help the dead man with his problem.

Can you really talk to the dead?" She gave me the look that I was familiar with by now: equal parts derision, skepticism, and curiosity. “How much would it be? I mean, how much do you charge?

dJack be nimble,Jack be quick,Jack forgot to check if the ice was thick.Emma was still,Emma was late,Emma’s brother is now part of the lake.Time has passed,Time has gone,Time brought Jack back wrong.He was solemn,He was brave,He left his coat on Emma’s grave.Emma was sad,Emma was scared,But she knew inside that Jack really cared.Jack was lost,Jack had forgot,That he had a story before the plot.Jack had wondered,Jack had fought,Jack had remembered what he had forgot.I hope you dream.I hope you wonder.I hope you have fun because this is done.Keep believing everyone.Jack be fearless,Jack be bold,Jack drowned when he was 17 years old.

But there are times to talk to the dead, times when the dead want to talk.

Orphan could no longer hear or see the shadows of the dead. He didn't think they had perished. Most likely they were hiding now, somewhere in this landscape of books.

Maybe it's for good what has happen, maybe it's not for good. Nobody knows, but don't ruin your day thinking about this sad event (The Dead). In the film "The Night Before", the same thing happen, but it went to something new and wonderful, marvelous how??The friends become best friends, parties, loads fun. This is all what we need!

Stay in your boats,” Dahra said. “We’re still going to need food. Throw your fish onto the dock. I’ll get Albert to send someone here to collect it. Then go back out, row up the coast a little ways, and camp out.”“Camp out?” Quinn echoed.“Yes!”“You’re serious.”“No, it’s my idea of a joke, Quinn,” Dahra snapped. “Pookie just coughed up a lung and fell over dead. You understand what I’m saying? I mean he coughed his actual lungs out of his mouth.

Not everyone who died had left a "memory" and not everyone who had left a memory had left a "blessed" one. Therefore, not all have died should be tagged "...of a blessed memory

Music without passion is merely noise. A life without passion? You may as well be dead.

For in Mexico, ladies and gentlemen, it's always high noon and what glows is fuchsia and what's dead is dead and no feather-dusters.

With you, I am. Without you, I am not.

The dead can't hurt you, they're dead. Living things can hurt you, living people can hurt you but the dead can't.

The dead can be even more frustrating to deal with than are many of the living, which is astonishing when you consider it's the living who run the Department of Motor Vehicles.

I will take a new approach to death, because what is important about death is not the dead. It’s the living. Those of us left behind.

Most artists weren't famous until they died (mostly because once they'd died they couldn't create any more art, so it would make it more valuable).

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

Neither alive nor dead; No one lets up, No one wins.

The dead are emotionless.

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

Death is deceitful, pretending that peace is on the horizon. The truth is that chaos is left in its wake, claiming the souls of those stranded in life. Death is the enemy of love in its purest form. It's the one thing that can tear our souls out and rip our hearts to pieces. The miraculous part of this process is that all it needs to do is extinguish a single, solitary breath. That's all it takes to steal the future of someone; someone who deserves to live more than all the others. If only I could capture that breath before it was taken to replace it with my own.

Baby human died, baby cat died yesterday... dead is part of our life beyond and above us!

So you tied the dead to alive person and now...YOu have just prepared the alive to be the 5 victim!

Name the different kinds of people,’ said Miss Lupescu. ‘Now.’Bod thought for a moment. ‘The living,’ he said. ‘Er. The dead.’ He stopped. Then, ‘... Cats?’ he offered, uncertainly.

There was less than I’d expected in the rainy-day fund that Mom had kept in the bottom of an underwear drawer in a panty hose egg labeled ‘DEAD SPIDERS.’ As if I hadn’t always known it was there. As if I wouldn’t want to look at dead spiders.

Everyday somebody dies... in combat, in war in battle... in game everwhere... so far nowhere is safety as you think.... I can tell you fom here what you think is wrong.... (What can you do about that??)

All is forgotten in the stone halls of the dead. These are the rooms of ruin where the spiders spin and the great circuits fall quiet, one by one...

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

This was true, she knew. Being involved with him gave her the privileged position of knowing him intimately. There were nights when he would wake up sweating, the nightmares returning out of the blue after a peaceful period sometimes weeks long. Growing up in the middle of a fierce civil war could indelibly mark a child. To Mykl, birthdays were always just another year under the belt, where the only reason to celebrate was that you weren’t dead yet. She took his hand, squeezed it tight and led him inside.

By then she was dead. In fact, she may have been dead a while ago. Physically, several seconds ago, mentally, ages ago.

You as a soul you are alive, you as an actor - dead, as a character - dead... That's life, like it or not, it's not my problem!

The faithful clamoured to be buried alongside the martyrs, as close as possible to the venerable remains, a custom which, in anthropological terms, recalls Neolithic beliefs that certain human remains possessed supernatural properties. It was believed that canonized saints did not rot, like lesser mortals, but that their corpses were miraculously preserved and emanated an odour of sanctity, a sweet, floral smell, for years after death. In forensic terms, such preservation is likely to be a result of natural mummification in hot, dry conditions.

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

Happiness is the province of those who ask few questions.

They knew a lot, the dead. How many times had she said to Harry they were the world’s greatest untapped resource? It was true. All they’d seen, all they’d suffered, all they’d triumphed over – lost to a world in need of wisdom.

The apathy of the people is enough to make every statue leap from its pedestal and hasten the resurrection of the dead.

As my hand found his, bitter salt tears spilled from my eyes, in sorrow and pain and regret that I had so utterly failed him.

Don't be so hard on yourself, don't put pressure on yourself, life is just a chain of experiments and results, and you'll be perfect when you're dead.

Some people die and you realize that the only mark they left on earth are the tomb stones under which they lie. The impacts you make on earth should be something worthy to improve lives.

Mist to mist, drops to drops. For water thou art, and unto water shalt thou return.

For the dead, who seem to take away so much, really take with them nothing that is ours.

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

Sometimes I wait at the bottom of those dark stairs, I sit at the bottom of the stairs, I wait beyond the bottom of the stairs and listen to the sounds my wife and children make as they sleep, the sounds our animals make as they step carefully through our dreams and out the other side to polished floor and cold window. Sometimes I wait so long I become unsure if I am asleep, or awake, or dead.

Go on, glare your eyes at me, and cry and plead, and talk tome about money and what it can buy. But it can't buy back a child once he's dead!

The dead are practical.

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

But it's fair to say that the war's [WWI] dialectic forced those who were more or less alive to go to their death, and gave those who were more or less dead the right to live. And if the war managed only to separate the living from the dead, then the new regime, arriving in its wake, would sooner or later pit them against each other as enemies.

They are dead. We are dead. It is over.

All I know is what the words know, and dead things, and that makes a handsome little sum, with a beginning and a middle and an end, as in the well-built phrase and the long sonata of the dead.

May the dead forgive me, I can do no otherBut as I am commanded; to do more is madness." - Ismene, Antigone (The Theban Plays) by Sophocles

The Dead are a larger army than any ever assembled, and they follow no leader, fear no threat, and accept no bribe or compromise. The Dead are the silent majority, and should they ever decide to say something, it will be the new law of the land.

The thing about coming back from the dead was that your life went on.

Quinns always come at half price, about half the time, and half-naked, even during the colder half of winter. A Quinn is like a queen, but draggier, and cheaper to buy and use for personal gain, unless you’re suspicious that you’re poor and illiterate like Jarod Kintz, in which case Quinns could be the spirits of your dead relatives, come to haunt you until you gather a massive fortune through selling books on the internet, to send some back in time through a portal you bought from the NSA, so they would have lived better lives without having to move a finger for their fortune. Oh, yah, and since they aren’t - they’re blue, like smurfs, yet they turn purple whenever tickled on the belly, which is something they seem to rather dislike, since they start biting and scratching when it happens, for no good reason, I might add.

The exhilaration of battle was agreeable to him, but the sight of the dead, with their clay faces, blank eyes, and stiff bodies, which, when not unnaturally shrunken, were unnaturally swollen, had always intolerably affected him. He felt toward them a kind of reasonless antipathy which was something more than the physical and spiritual repugnance common to us all. Doubtless this feeling was due to his unusually acute sensibilities - his keen sense of the beautiful, which these hideous things outraged. Whatever may have been the cause, he could not look upon a dead body without a loathing which had in it an element of reselltment. What others have respected as the dignity of death had to him no existence - was altogether unthinkable. Death was a thing to be hated. It was not picturesque, it had no tender and solemn side - a dismal thing, hideous in all its manifestations and suggestions. Lieutenant Byring was a braver man than anybody knew, for nobody knew his horror of that which he was ever ready to encounter. ("A Tough Tussle")

Some friends are like sunny days, with false flames, oozing from afar, coming near without a dime.

I don't know what happened. Disease? War? Social collapse? Or was it just us? The Dead replacing the Living? I guess it's not so important. Once you've arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which route you took.