Death Quotes - Page 50

The thing about our choices is that after we have made them, they turn around and make us.

Its all about perception in life, For some One minus One = One & for some its Zero.That's the only difference.

Think about death being inevitable, and unpredictable, exempt from the law of averages. Everyone has a turn, and no one knows when.

You're murderers," she told the stunned crowd. "You killed him. He was a miracle, and you killed him. Now you've just got me. And I'm a curse.

If his surroundings could have reflected the feelings inside him, the pictures would have been screaming in pain.

It was not boring, said Majnoun, but it was strange. The people were always looking away to where you couldn't see. The whole time, I thought there was something coming. Then at the end, it was death that came.

I was born in a hospital. I do not want to die in one.

Losing Chloe had been like reading a wonderfulook only to realize that all the pages past a certain point were blank.

The day she was born,her grandfather made her a ring of silver and a polished stone, because he loved her already.

Don't burn the corpse!Zombies don't like fire!

I never wanted to go away, and the hard part now is the leaving you all. I'm not afraid, but it seems as if I should be homesick for you even in heaven.

Yet he refused to be depressed. Instead, Morrie had become a lightning rod of ideas.

The emotional element which gives an obsessive value to communal existence is death.

As for Gussie Finknottle, many an experienced undertaker would have been deceived by his appearance and started embalming on sight.

There is nothing in nature which approximates to the idea of a hospice.

We are all dead, we just haven't figured it out yet.

The chief problem about death, incidentally, is the fear that there may be no afterlife - a depressing thought, particularly for those who bothered to shave. Also, there is the fear that there is an afterlife but no one will know where it's being held. On the plus side, death is one of the few things that can be done as easily laying down.

Everything I have become,everything I will ever accomplishcannot compare to my mostimpressive feat:I have loved youfiercelyand assiduouslywith the very marrowinside my bones. So that when I die, they can crack them to findyou there. So that when I die, they can open me upand see your name tattooed on the wall of my heart.So that when I die, my epitaph will neither commemoratewho I wasnor what I did, but will read:“She loved.And loved. And loved.”And so, I smile now,because that is no small thing.

The world now understands the concept of a 'desk murderer.' We know that one doesn't need to be fanatical, sadistic, or mentally ill to murder millions; that it is enough to be a loyal follower eager to do one's duty.

Confidence don't mean jack shit in the real world, sis," she once said. I feel myself finding the courage to trust those words more and more with every twist of the knife. Coincidentally, last Tuesday afternoon I was involuntarily exposed to the punch line of an old wise tale that goes something like: "There's beauty that can be found in everything." But why can't the insensitive cunt who said that ever find the courage to look in the mirror? Because poopycock, one might say.

When you attempt suicide, the counselors try to talk you out of trying it again by asking you about other people, which is good prevention if you care about other people.

But you are not your bank account, or your ambition. You're not the cold clay lump you leave behind when you die. You're not your collection of walking personality disorders. You are Spirit, you are love, and even though it is hard to believe sometimes, you are free. You're here to love, and be loved, freely. If you find out next week that you are terminally ill - and we're all terminally ill on this bus - what will matter are memories of beauty, that people loved you, and that you loved them.

Just know I amNot there to catch youBut I am there for you

The answer of life struggles in between two kinds of people- those who live to dreamand those who dream to liveAsk them the question about death if they can truly conceive

I kissed her and forgot death.

...[we] has left nothing durable to signalize his stay upon this planet.[we]eventually dies to the honest regret of [our] associates.

I will one day accept death with gratitude if I meet it having lived a life that became truly my own.

The rest, is silence.

Once people get hung up on theology, they've lost sanity forever. More people have been killed in the name of Jesus Christ than any other name in the history of the world.

it is true, in bad time everything turn away from person.My time is really bad .today again even death turn face from me and go away.Hate it

Five words that were the hardest words I would ever have to say,Five pillars of my faith that couldn't save him that day.Five rivers, the Panj Aab, that didn't flow through his veins.Five minutes that changed our world forever.

If I am to be a skeleton in a box buried deep into the ground, I pray you will be the dust that rests atop my bones.

Unlike temporal leadership, in which violence and death often proliferate, Christ’s rule signifies reunion between predator and prey, malefactors and innocents.

Actually, this is a poem my father once showed me, a long time ago. It has been bastardized many times, in many ways, but this is the original:The Cold Within Six men trapped by happenstance,in bleak and bitter coldEach possessed a stick of wood,or so the story's told. Their dying fire in need of logs,the first man held his back For of the faces round the fire,he noticed one was black. One man looking cross the way, saw one not of his churchAnd could not bring himself to givethe fire his stick of birch. The third one sat in tattered clothes,he gave his coat a hitchWhy should his log be put to useto warm the idle rich?The rich man just sat back and thoughtof the wealth he had in store And how to keep what he had earnedfrom the lazy, shiftless poor.The black man's face bespoke revengeas the fire passed from his sight,For all he saw in his stick of woodwas a chance to spite the white.And the last man of this forlorn groupdid naught except for gain,Giving only to those who gave,was how he played the gameThe logs held tight, in death's stillhands,was proof of human sinThey didn't die from the cold without,they died from the cold within.

A shapeless figure bent over him, he smelt the fresh leather of the revolver belt; but what insignia did the figure wear on the sleeves and shoulder straps of its uniform—and in whose name did it raise the dark pistol barrel?A second, smashing blow hit him on the ear. Then all became quiet. There was the sea again with its sounds. A wave slowly lifted him up. It came from afar and travelled sedately on, a shrug of eternity.

I always thought I wasn't afraid to die. No... No one is afraid of death itself. Your pain and suffering is over in an instant. What really makes me suffer... Is seeing you crying over me... From the darkness of the Milky Way.I'm sorry... Please don't make that face. You look best when you're smiling, you know.

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?And what is it to cease breathing but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.And when you have reached the mountaintop,then you shall begin to climb.And when the earth shal claim your limbs,then shall you truly dance.

Take death for example. A great deal of our effort goes into avoiding it. We make extraordinary efforts to delay it, and often consider its intrusion a tragic event. Yet we’d find it hard to live without it. Death gives meaning to our lives. It gives importance and value to time. Time would become meaningless if there were too much of it.

Mama wasn't dead...exactly. They all said she was, but when Elma was small, she seen Mama creep into her room at night, half-naked, head all bloodied red like when they found her by the well that day, and Elma reckoned dead just meant pretendin' you couldn't move or breathe until nightfall when you got up and walked around like you was free.

Unless their use by readers bring them to life, books are indeed dead things.

The festivity had reached that apogee of joy when you face the happy fate of being crushed to death.

Everybody going to be dead one day, just give them time.

there is a place in the heart thatwill never be filleda spaceand even during thebest momentsandthe greatest timestimeswe will know itwe will know itmore thaneverthere is a place in the heart thatwill never be filledandwe will waitandwaitin that space.

I've played Romeo for Juliet(But in depth)It's vignettes of silhouettes(And then read)And watched Russian roulette, yeah red SovietYet doing it simultaneouslyWhile dropping down shed oubliettesTurned around and took truth to the head thatLove is the ugliest thing too beautiful for death

...Opal is dead, and I don't see how a healer can change that! It's not something to joke about."Joke?" Then Owen hit his forehead and cried, "That's right, you haven't heard!"Heard what?" asked Adrien, who felt an insane glimmer of hope return to his heart.Death is on strike! She hasn't done that for two centuries, and it's very annoying. Your friend is alive."Very annoying?" repeated Amber. "I don't see what's so annoying about a miracle! What is Death on strike for?"Everyone knows that Death lives in Fairytale-in an inaccessible area, obviously. And just a few hours ago, she decided to stop working. So, for now, no one can die.

The free animalhas its dying always behind itand God in front of it, and its wayis the eternal way, as the spring flowing.Never, not for a moment, do we havepure space before us, where the flowersendlessly open.

I don't want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve immortality through not dying.

Duntz asked Smith, 'Added up, how much money did you get from the Cutters?' 'Between forty and fifty dollars.

A dead man is the worst enemy alive, I thought. You can't alter his power over you. You can't alter what you love or owe. And it's too late to ask him for his absolution. He has beaten you all ways.

Do not go gentle into that good night Old age should burn and rave at close of day Rage rage against the dying of the light.

I recognized the great monument from the illustration in the copy of /The Jungle Book/ that my mother kept in the top drawer of my bedside table. When I went with Sophia to the Taj Mahal for the first time, I was not as enchanted by the real mausoleum as I had been by its plaster, paint, and paper replica in the studio; the original posed a dreadfully seductive promise in cool marble of a strangely painful loveliness, a lover's lie that death itself might in some mysterious way, because of love, be lovely.

Whatever you are, do not even assume that you will be surrounded and gnawed by luxurious worms of an exquisite breed.

Farewell is said by the living, in life, every day. It is said with love and friendship, with the affirmation that the memories are lasting if the flesh is not.

Eating, drinking, dying - three primary manifestations of the universal and impersonal life. Animals live that impersonal and universal life without knowing its nature. Ordinary people know its nature but don't live it and, if they think seriously about it, refuse to accept it. An enlightened person knows it, lives it, and accepts it completely. He eats, he drinks, and in due course he dies - but he eats with a difference, drinks with a difference, dies with a difference.

First they burned her - that was last month. Actually just two weeks ago. Now they're starvng him. When he's dead, they'll burn him too.Oh, how jolly. All this burning of family members in the summertime.

There are three deaths. The first is when the body ceases to function. The second is when the body is consigned to the grave. The third is that moment, sometime in the future, when your name is spoken for the last time.

And some day there will be nothing left of everything that has twisted my life and grieved it and filled me so often with such anguish. Some day, with the last exhaustion, peace will come and the motherly earth will gather me back home. It won't be the end of things, only a way of being born again, a bathing and a slumbering where the old and the withered sink down, where the young and new begin to breathe. Then, with other thoughts, I will walk along streets like these, and listen to streams, and overhear what the sky says in the evening, over and over and over.

well, death says, as he walks by, I'm going to get you anyhow no matter what you've been: writer, cab-driver, pimp, butcher, sky-diver, I'm going to get you

One of life's great truths is this: when one is about to be struck by a speeding six-hundred pound Coke machine, one need worry about little else.

She'd made life poignant for the Irish. The terror she inspired gave peace its serenity; the pain she caused gave health its lustre; her failure to love made me grateful for my ability to do so, and I realized, far too late, that though I never did or could have loved her as she might have wished, I should have loved her more.