Nature in one of her beneficent moods has ordained that even death has some antidote to its own terrors.
Rest is for the dead.
To die for one's country is such a worthy fate that all compete for so beautiful a death.
It’s a hard thing to explain to somebody who hasn’t felt it, but the presence of death and danger has a way of bringing you fully awake. It makes things vivid. When you’re afraid, really afraid, you see things you never saw before, you pay attention to the world. You make close friends. You become part of a tribe and you share the same blood- you give it together, you take it together.
That is the gods' work, spinning threads of death through the lives of mortal men, an all to make a song for those to come.
Death and resurrection are what the story is about and had we but eyes to see it, this has been hinted on every page, met us, in some disguise, at every turn, and even been muttered in conversations between such minor characters (if they are minor characters) as the vegetables.
Because men really respect only that which was founded of old and has developed slowly, he who wants to live on after his death must take care not only of his posterity but even more of his past.
Let him submit to me! Only the god of death is so relentless, Death submits to no one—so mortals hate him most of all the gods. Let him bow down to me! I am the greater king, I am the elder-born, I claim—the greater man.
My painting is not violent, it's life that is violent. Even within the most beautiful landscape, in the trees, under the leaves, the insects are eating each other; violence is a part of life. We are born with a scream; we come into life with a scream and maybe love is a mosquito net between the fear of living and the fear of death.
Death is part of who we are. It guides us. It shapes us. It drives us to madness. Can you still be human if you have no mortal end
You know your life is over when you own a lawnmower.
The universe was exploding, each particle away from the next, hurtling us into dark and lonely space, eternally tearing us away from each other - child out of the womb, friend away from friend, moving from each other, each through his own pathway towards the goal-box of solitary death.
What is born will die, What has been gathered will be dispersed, What has been accumulated will be exhausted, What has been built up will collapse, And what has been high will be brought low.
No man ever repented of being a Christian on his death bed.
Living does not undo life. Death does not, either. Life and death are not either-or.
Andrew Wood's death changed things for a few weeks. I probably got even heavier into drugs after that.
Uh-uh, dude. I tried it your way with the dating and the girls and the kissing and the drama, and man, I didn't like it. Plus, my best friend is a walking cautionary tale of what happens to you when romantic relationships don't involve marriage. Like you always say, kafir, everything ends in breakup, divorce, or death. I want to narrow my misery options to divorce or death - that's all.
I couldn't imagine working in a hospital where there's just death, everywhere. But for a lot of women, it was their only option. They couldn't get other jobs.
Death is not the greatest of evils; it is worse to want to die, and not be able to.
Someone has somewhere commented on the fact that millions long for immortality who don't know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.
