Best 741 quotes in «death and dying quotes» category

My blood alone remains: take it, but do not make me suffer long.

My body weeps to live when you make me believe that someday I will be dead soul sleepless in graveyard's bed

My God, if I had a heart, I would write my hate on ice, and wait for the sun to show.

My life is never influenced by death because I am full of resurrections after so many spiritual and emotional demises

My mother, Delle Hunter, was a physically small woman, yet she was the biggest person I’ve ever known. She had total focus, an attribute that deeply impressed me. She taught me by example that how we live impacts how we die. She lived a life of courage, beauty, and integrity; she died in the same manner.

My mother went on and on about it. Actually she went off on a tangent, I told her about your mother at one point and she went all (H starts doing a lightly French accent) it is not fair for your friend, she is not going to get the important boredoms and mournings and melancholies that are her due and are owing to her just from being the age that she is, for now it will be interrupted by real mournings and real melancholies...

my own voice was now tinged with the dead too. The kind of unsettled feeling the newly deceased bring on is highly contagious. It moves through the phone line as a faint trembling, transforming the sound of words, bringing the world in sync with its vibration.

My thoughts are with you all. Forever conscious of the vast, absurd universe and writing my eternal story I shall remain dead, but dreaming.

N'aie pas peur de mes paroles: une morte ne veut plus rien, elle ne veut ni amour, ni pitié, ni réconfort.

Nature is strictly moral. There is no attempt to cheat the Earth my means of steel vault of bronze coffin. I hope that when I die I too may be permitted to pay at once my oldest outstanding debt, to restore promptly the minerals and salts that have been lent to me for the little while that I have use for blood and bone and flesh.

My father died suddenly, but also across the years. He was still dying, really- which meant I guess that he was still living, too.

My father, my father, and dost thou not hear The words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear? 'Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives; Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves.

My mother died of colon cancer one week after my eleventh birthday, and that fact has shaped my life. All that I have become and much that I have not become, I trace directly or indirectly to her death. ... In my professional and personal life, I have lived with the awareness of death's imminence for more than half a century, and labored in its constant presence for all but the first decade of that time.

Nature had found the perfect place to hide the yellow fever virus. It seeded itself and grew in the blood, blooming yellow and running red.

No one gets out of this world alive...except astronauts.

No one dies pre-maturely. As is meant, happens naturally

No one knows whether death may not be the greatest of all blessings for a man, yet men fear it as if they knew it was the greatest of evils.

No matter how well you take care of the dying, no matter if you sit beside them every minute, every day—in the end they must go, and you stay. And you wave them off. You lie.

No sunset winks, but surely be followed by the sunrise! - Try to remember this on your moments of despair.

« Norbert de Varenne parlait d’une voix claire, mais retenue, qui aurait sonné dans le silence de la nuit s’il l’avait laissée s’échapper. Il semblait surexcité et triste, d’une de ces tristesses qui tombent parfois sur les âmes et les rendent vibrantes comme la terre sous la gelée. Il reprit : « Qu’importe, d’ailleurs, un peu plus ou un peu moins de génie, puisque tout doit finir ! » Et il se tut. Duroy, qui se sentait le cœur gai, ce soir-là, dit, en souriant : « Vous avez du noir, aujourd’hui, cher maître. » Le poète répondit. « J’en ai toujours, mon enfant, et vous en aurez autant que moi dans quelques années. La vie est une côte. Tant qu’on monte, on regarde le sommet, et on se sent heureux ; mais, lorsqu’on arrive en haut, on aperçoit tout d’un coup la descente, et la fin qui est la mort. Ça va lentement quand on monte, mais ça va vite quand on descend. À votre âge, on est joyeux. On espère tant de choses, qui n’arrivent jamais d’ailleurs. Au mien, on n’attend plus rien... que la mort. » Duroy se mit à rire : « Bigre, vous me donnez froid dans le dos. » Norbert de Varenne reprit : « Non, vous ne me comprenez pas aujourd’hui, mais vous vous rappellerez plus tard ce que je vous dis en ce moment. » « Il arrive un jour, voyez- vous, et il arrive de bonne heure pour beaucoup, où c’est fini de rire, comme on dit, parce que derrière tout ce qu’on regarde, c’est la mort qu’on aperçoit. » « Oh ! vous ne comprenez même pas ce mot-là, vous, la mort. À votre âge, ça ne signifie rien. Au mien, il est terrible. » « Oui, on le comprend tout d’un coup, on ne sait pas pourquoi ni à propos de quoi, et alors tout change d’aspect, dans la vie. Moi, depuis quinze ans, je la sens qui me travaille comme si je portais en moi une bête rongeuse. Je l’ai sentie peu à peu, mois par mois, heure par heure, me dégrader ainsi qu’une maison qui s’écroule. Elle m’a défiguré si complètement que je ne me reconnais pas. Je n’ai plus rien de moi, de moi l’homme radieux, frais et fort que j’étais à trente ans. Je l’ai vue teindre en blanc mes cheveux noirs, et avec quelle lenteur savante et méchante ! Elle m’a pris ma peau ferme, mes muscles, mes dents, tout mon corps de jadis, ne me laissant qu’une âme désespérée qu’elle enlèvera bientôt aussi. » « Oui, elle m’a émietté, la gueuse, elle a accompli doucement et terriblement la longue destruction de mon être, seconde par seconde. Et maintenant je me sens mourir en tout ce que je fais. Chaque pas m’approche d’elle, chaque mouvement, chaque souffle hâte son odieuse besogne. Respirer, dormir, boire, manger, travailler, rêver, tout ce que nous faisons, c’est mourir. Vivre enfin, c’est mourir ! » » (de « Bel-Ami » par Guy de Maupassant)

No one wants to go into a nursing home. My patients fear it; families often feel terrible guilt when the time comes: it is thought of as an abandonment. Nursing homes are where we place our bad outcomes, our frail, our no-longer-independents. They are places people go to wait safely to die. The old doubly incontinents. You might have stood up to Stalin, you might still read Tolstoy, but if you're losing it from both the front and back and you're not a two-year-old, you're going to be hidden away. "Don't know the nursing homes, they do a pretty good job," a geriatrician said to me. And most of the time they perform their function: as a holding bay for old people. Most of the time.

Nothing inside my body was trying to kill me. Death was, of course, the most ordinary thing that could happen, at some level I knew that. Still, I had stood there waiting to see the body in the river, ignoring the real living bodies all around me, as if death was more of a miracle than life was.

Not how he died, not what he died of, even less why he died, are of concern, to me, only the fact that he did die, he is dead, is important: the loss to me, to us

Obviously the raven with the unquenchable itch was at it again, playing tricks on the world and its creatures. Once by air, he thought, and now by water.

Oh hell, yeah! It is rather good to be un-dead. You my dear friend, are welcome to be otherwise instead.

oh. she heard it too-no waters coursing, canyon empty, sun soundless- and the beast your life nowhere hiding (p. 103)

Old age is catching up with me, or am I catching up with it?

No. That would not be him. He would not die on a battlefield, choking on blood and honor without making any difference at all.

O Karma, Dharma, pudding and pie O Karma, Dharma, pudding and pie, gimme a break before I die: grant me wisdom, will, & wit, purity, probity, pluck, & grit. Trustworthy, loyal, helpful, kind, gimme great abs & a steel-trap mind, and forgive, Ye Gods, some humble advice— these little blessings would suffice to beget an earthly paradise: make the bad people good— and the good people nice; and before our world goes over the brink, teach the believers how to think.

Old age is meant to slow us down just before the final destination; otherwise reaching the stop would be too abrupt." - On Old Age

One day I wish to die, but today, I wish to live.

One day you will be the only one in the room not living.

One had heard and read a great deal about death, and even seen a little of it, and knew by heart the thousand commonplaces of religion and poetry which seemed to deaden one's senses and veil the horror. Society being immortal, could put on immortality at will. Adams being mortal, felt only the mortality. Death took features altogether new to him, in these rich and sensuous surroundings. Nature enjoyed it, played with it, the horror added to her charm, she liked the torture, and smothered her victim with caresses. Never had one seen her so winning. The hot Italian summer brooded outside, over the market-place and the picturesque peasants, and, in the singular color of the Tuscan atmosphere, the hills and vineyards of the Apennines seemed bursting with mid-summer blood. The sick-room itself glowed with the Italian joy of life; friends filled it; no harsh northern lights pierced the soft shadows; even the dying women shared the sense of the Italian summer, the soft, velvet air, the humor, the courage, the sensual fulness of Nature and man. She faced death, as women mostly do, bravely and even gaily, racked slowly to unconsciousness, but yielding only to violence, as a soldier sabred in battle. For many thousands of years, on these hills and plains, Nature had gone on sabring men and women with the same air of sensual pleasure.

One Must Choose Among Both Parties Either To Be A Wise Man That Die To Live In Righteousness And Blissfulness For Eternity Or Be A Foolish Man That Lives To Die For Vanity.

once ruffle-skirted vanity table where I primped at thirteen, opening drawers to a private chaos of eyeshadows lavender teal sky-blue, swarms of hair pins pony tail fasteners, stashes of powders, colonies of tiny lipsticks (p.39)

Only God knows the future. When told by doctors in 2014 that cancer could cease function of his mind and body in two years or less, the author experienced a transition. Suddenly all priorities were rearranged in order of their eternal value. Many of those things that seemed so important the day before, became nothing: a grudge was dropped, a hurt forgiven, a threat dismissed, an apprehension set aside, a bucket list reduced to one or two accomplishments prior to death.

old folks frey, the curb to the house the smell of illness and lost souls painted on the walls of washed off paint quirky noises; maybe its settling in its an old house, of generations Brandy gave me a key; old swine gave up the ghosts in the alley were broken; flickering lights

Only the dead, can speak about their world.

On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold, My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold.

One should part from life as Ulysses parted from Nausicaa-- blessing it rather than in love with it.

O, treacherous Death! You can't be forgiven for vanquishing my creator to the dust...

Pain, unless it is physical, was sold to you (by your culture).

Our existence comes with Death. And it comes with suffering, death alone is not enough and pleasure have consequences. wicked and fucked. love comes with hurting. And having means losing.

Opium makes you quick-witted - perhaps only because it calms the nerves and stills the emotions. Nothing, not even death, seems so important.

Part of us did die. Literally - that tissue on your face, the part they removed. It died. And you can't recover from any kind of death without mourning it.

People are fragile. They die of mistakes, of overdoses, of sickness. But mostly they die of Death.

Perhaps, in a few people, I have seen what can be described as a struggle with death, and it can be distressing to behold. But for the vast majority of people death is gentle, tender.

Perhaps we meet our heaven at the start and not the end of life.

Portuguese Quote: Ele dobra a Cabo de Boa Esperanca: “He’s rounding the Cape of Good Hope.” Ironically, it means that the person’s life is in its final phase, that he’s incapable of accomplishing anything more.

People tend to think that death is absolute, the one thing we can all be certain about, but that’s not the case. Death is complex. It’s powerful and timeless. The truth is, when it comes to death, nothing is impossible.