DEATH QUOTES XX

quotations about death

When a house has just lost its soul, a stricken silence falls over the sudden emptiness that no one will fill again. And all the noises that may be made later in that house will be like a scandalous din, ugly echoes from one room to another, from one corridor to another, sharp and discordant as if the walls are no longer able to absorb any music once the source of harmony has been taken away. But this strange detail about the power of death can only be picked up by ears that are very attentive to the smallest murmurs of life. Rational people go through these empty spaces with the serenity of a lawyer, and their indulgent smiles categorise you if you decide to point out in their presence that there is something lacking in the atmosphere.

PIERRE MAGNAN

The Messengers of Death


Brief and powerless is man's life; on him and all his race the slow, sure doom falls pitiless and dark.

BERTRAND RUSSELL

Philosophical Essays


Certain, when I was born, so long ago,
Death drew the tap of life and let it flow;
And ever since the tap has done its task,
And now there's little but an empty cask.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

The Canterbury Tales


Death is a Dialogue between
The Spirit and the Dust.

EMILY DICKINSON

"Death is a Dialogue"


I cannot tell you if the dead,
Who loved us fondly when on earth,
Walk by our side, sit at our hearth,
By ties of old affection led....
But this I know--in many dreams
They come to us from realms afar,
And leave the golden gates ajar
Through which immortal glory streams.

ALBERT LAIGHTON

"The Dead"


Life is a waste of woes,
And Death a river deep,
That ever onward flows,
Troubled, yet asleep.

WILLIAM BATCHELDER GREENE

"Lines To --", Imogen and Other Poems


Old man death sits all alone
In quiet contemplation
Picking at his blackened nails
Waiting for his next victim
Watching as your life force drains

VENOM

"Death & Dying", Metal Black


On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.

CHUCK PALAHNIUK

Fight Club


To live in hearts we leave behind
Is not to die.

THOMAS CAMPBELL

Hallowed Ground


Because I could not stop for Death --
He kindly stopped for me --
The Carriage held but just Ourselves --
And Immortality.

EMILY DICKINSON

"Because I could not stop for Death"


Far happier he, who, young and full of pride
And radiant with the glory of the sun,
Leaves earth before his singing time is done.
All wounds of Time the graveyard flowers hide,
His beauty lives, as fresh as when he died.

JOYCE KILMER

"The Clouded Sun"


Now that you are dead,
You are splendid.
Photographs of people who have just died
Are worth twenty percent more,
And for suicides
There is an additional five percent.
Now that you are dead
You are much in demand.

KOBO ABE

The Ghost is Here


This flesh and the other will be consumed,
the flower will doubtless perish without residue,
when death--sterile dawn, desiccated dust--
comes one day into the girdle of the haughty island,
and you, statue, daughter of man, will remain
gazing with the empty eyes that rose
up through one and another hand of the absent immortals.

PABLO NERUDA

"The Builders of Statues"


Death is the condition of higher and more fruitful life.

E. H. CHAPIN

Living Words


Death was an accident like any other, and, moreover, one as certain as hunger or as sleep.

HILAIRE BELLOC

On Nothing & Kindred Subjects


Fair Death, kind Death, it was a gracious deed
To take that weary vagrant to thy breast.
Love, Song and Wine had he, and but one need--Rest.

JOYCE KILMER

"A Dead Poet"


Graveyards remind us of the vanity of all human endeavour.

IVAN KLIMA

Waiting for the Dark


If death turned out to be a lack of being rather than a lack of consciousness, well, then, that sucked.

LINDA HOWARD

Death Angel


There are too many poems about death. Death, churchyards, wormy cadavers. Death is really a small part of life, and it's not the part that you want to concentrate on, because life is life and it's full of untold particulars.

NICHOLSON BAKER

The Anthologist


There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

"The Reaper and the Flowers"