Explore Quotes on Death

To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come.

No one here gets out alive.

It is useless for me to describe to you how terrible Violet, Klaus, and even Sunny felt in the time that followed. If you have ever lost someone very important to you, then you already know how it feels, and if you haven't, you cannot possibly imagine it.

I meant," said Ipslore bitterly, "what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?" Death thought about it. CATS, he said eventually. CATS ARE NICE.

Poetry is the language of intensity. Because we are going to die, an expression of intensity is justified.

If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.

It is very important that you only do what you love to do. you may be poor, you may go hungry, you may lose your car, you may have to move into a shabby place to live, but you will totally live. And at the end of your days you will bless your life because you have done what you came here to do. Otherwise, you will live your life as a prostitute, you will do things only for a reason, to please other people, and you will never have lived. and you will not have a pleasant death.

Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. Love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves it's own mark. To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever.

The words of a dead man are modified in the guts of the living.

We sometimes congratulate ourselves at the moment of waking from a troubled dream; it may be so the moment after death.

Our Creator would never have made such lovely days, and have given us the deep hearts to enjoy them, above and beyond all thought, unless we were meant to be immortal.

To save your world you asked this man to die; would this man, could he see you now, ask why?

Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.

When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes—when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she's gone, forever—there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.

How could you go about choosing something that would hold the half of your heart you had to bury?

Sweets to the sweet.

Eat drink and be merry for tomorrow we may diet.

That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone: Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.

At the temple there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.

It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things.

Death is nothing to us, since when we are, death has not come, and when death has come, we are not.