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Death Quotes - Page 7 on Quotations Book

Quotes about Death

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These are quotes tagged with "death".

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Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. [Psalm 23:4]

For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. [1 Timothy 6:7]
I really wanted to die at certain periods in my life. Death was like love, a romantic escape. I took pills because I didn't want to throw myself off my balcony and know people would photograph me lying dead below.
Death is a release from the impressions of the senses, and from desires that make us their puppets, and from the vagaries of the mind, and from the hard service of the flesh.
Unquiet souls. In the dark fermentation of earth, in the never idle workshop of nature, in the eternal movement, yea shall find yourselves again.
Your lost friends are not dead, but gone before, advanced a stage or two upon that road which you must travel in the steps they trod.
Death not merely ends life, it also bestows upon it a silent completeness, snatched from the hazardous flux to which all things human are subject.
A dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist.
See in what peace a Christian can die.
I answer the heroic question "Death where is thy sting?" "It is here in my heart and mind and memories"
It is easy to go down into Hell; night and day, the gates of dark Death stand wide; but to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air - there's the rub, the task.
For good undone, and gifts misspent, and resolutions vain, ’T is somewhat late to trouble. This I know— I should live the same life over, if I had to live again; And the chances are I go where most men go.
We are all dying. Every single day that we are alive!
When a man has died, he wants you to know about it.
To die is poignantly bitter, but the idea of having to die without having lived is unbearable.
Death does determine life. Once life is finished it acquires a sense; up to that point it has not got a sense; its sense is suspended and therefore ambiguous. However, to be sincere I must add that for me death is important only if it is not justified and rationalized by reason. For me death is the maximum of epicness and death.
Tis all a Checker-board of Nights and days where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays: Hither and thither moves, and mates and slays, and one by one back in the Closet lays.
But there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green.
Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He comet up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.
Life, in my estimation, is a biological misadventure that we terminate on the shoulders of six strange men whose only objective is to make a hole in one with you.
Virtue alone has majesty in death.
All men think that all men are mortal but themselves.
Against you I will fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O Death!
To die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
God buries His workmen but carries on His work.
Dear me! I must be turning into a god.
In the twentieth century, death terrifies men less than the absence of real life. All these dead, mechanized, specialized actions, stealing a little bit of life a thousand times a day until the mind and body are exhausted, until that death which is not the
What is here is also there; what is there, is also here. Who sees multiplicity but not the one indivisible Self must wander on and on from death to death.
A man does not die of love or his liver or even of old age; he dies of being a man.
Having seen and felt the end, you have willed the means to the realization of the end.
But the peasants -- how do the peasants die?
Early to rise and early to bed makes a male healthy and wealthy and dead.
Authority forgets a dying king.
A fiction about soft or easy deaths is part of the mythology of most diseases that are not considered shameful or demeaning.
For those who live neither with religious consolations about death nor with a sense of death (or of anything else) as natural, death is the obscene mystery, the ultimate affront, the thing that cannot be controlled. It can only be denied.
He has outsoared the shadow of our night; envy and calumny and hate and pain, and that unrest which men miscall delight, can touch him not and torture not again; from the contagion of the world's slow stain, he is secure.
I have a rendezvous with Death at some disputed barricade.
The white man's dead forget the country of their birth when they go to walk among the stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it is the mother of the red man.
Just like those who are incurably ill, the aged know everything about their dying except exactly when.
Be the green grass above me, with showers and dewdrops wet; and if thou wilt, remember, and if thou wilt, forget.

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