Dead Quotes

The dead never truly die. They simply change form.

I was one of those unfortunates adopted by upper middle-class professionals and nurtured in an environment of learning, art and a socio-religious culture steeped in more than 2000 years of Talmudic tradition. Not everyone is lucky enough to have been raised in a whiskey tango trailer park by a bow-legged female whose sole qualification for motherhood is a womb that happened to catch a sperm of a passing truck driver.

Life without making progress is dead. What is life if you don't embrace new truths that scare you, meet people who intimidate you, and so on.

Oh, oh, oh I'm so sorry for you... but the real truth is that you make this to happen. (Believe or not I definite like this!)

It is everything that makes a man. It is everything that makes this man. And that is who I am alive, and that is who I am dead.

Everyone at every minute of his life must feel something. Only the dead have no sensations.

May the dead forgive me, I can do no otherBut as I am commanded; to do more is madness." - Ismene, Antigone (The Theban Plays) by Sophocles

By then she was dead. In fact, she may have been dead a while ago. Physically, several seconds ago, mentally, ages ago.

The Dead are a larger army than any ever assembled, and they follow no leader, fear no threat, and accept no bribe or compromise. The Dead are the silent majority, and should they ever decide to say something, it will be the new law of the land.

I live nearby a graveyard, that's where I get all my inspiration for wisdom and life

For in Mexico, ladies and gentlemen, it's always high noon and what glows is fuchsia and what's dead is dead and no feather-dusters.

It's a harrowing experience to see death approaching in haste towards you, what is hell but confronting your own mortality

And out the bus window, here is my dead world come true, my whole dead world in motion.

Streets teemed with hell's wretched souls. New dead with their gadgets and old dead from antiquity. Demons roamed the avenues and alleyways, tormenting hapless damned at random with branding irons, flaming pitchforks, and razor-wire whips. -From the story Remember, Remember, Hell in November, in the anthology, Lawyers in Hell.

For a minute, I can feel it: the sense of peace as my mind goes quiet, like I'm already dead. I am weightless and free. Nothing and no one to fear, not even myself.

Love won't kill you.-Carla

If you’d saved the girl, you’d be a hero. Next time.

I am only a human.                                      I plot. I scheme. I believe my own lies.       I err. I sin. I look the other way even if something inside me dies.                             I get away with almost everything.               Why?                                                                 Because I am only a human.

As a character I am dead, as a writer I am not.

He looked exactly the same when he was alive, only he was vertical.

(Witness also that when we talk about literature, we do so in the present tense. When we speak of the dead, we are not so kind.) You do not immortalize the lost by writing about them. Language buries, but does not resurrect.

I just want silence... nothing less... nothing more.

Most people say about graveyards: "Oh, it's just a bunch of dead people. It's creepy." But for me, there's an energy to it that it not creepy, or dark. It has a positive sense to it.

Ronan," Noah said, "I have a super bad feeling.""It's called being dead," Ronan replied.

After Chopin's death, Polish patriots cut up his body to take out his heart. They nationalized this poor muscle and buried it in Poland.A dead person is treated either as trash or as a symbol. Either way, it's the same disrespect to his vanished individuality.

Plants are more courageous than almost all human beings: an orange tree would rather die than produce lemons, whereas instead of dying the average person would rather be someone they are not.

We all want to become more than we are, we want to live forever, that is why we hate death and create the afterlife.

This was true, she knew. Being involved with him gave her the privileged position of knowing him intimately. There were nights when he would wake up sweating, the nightmares returning out of the blue after a peaceful period sometimes weeks long. Growing up in the middle of a fierce civil war could indelibly mark a child. To Mykl, birthdays were always just another year under the belt, where the only reason to celebrate was that you weren’t dead yet. She took his hand, squeezed it tight and led him inside.

It is seriously creepy when you receive a friend request from a dead friend in social media asking you to accept.

I'm alive but I have no life. I'm alive but also dead. I'm dead and alive.

What I learned in this tragedy was the eternal lesson of good people going bad.

No guilt or anger or longing changes that.

There’s no better way for a woman to punish a man than to make him sleep away from her.

To don't forget and marriage, the happiness is the from 20 up to 30% out of the 100% the other percentage is anger, and very negative sides. So far most people are dead.

I am a dead man, that's all......My Brain doesn't workproperly.My Brain is diagonessed officially dead....

She felt as if the grave stones were whispering those names to her as she walked past... Those stones that bore no names seemed like closed mouths, sad mouths that forgotten how to speak. But perhaps the dead didn't mind what their names had once been?

We live for our unfulfilled dreams when we are alive. Our fulfilled dreams live for us when we are gone!

You cannot do anything good for a dead man! Whatever goodness you want to do for him, do it when he is alive!

Would people be excited about your departure from the earth or they would wish you should come back again and again if possible?

Do you want to stick needles in the living or scalpels in the dead?

Graveyards exist because death exists? No! Graveyards exist because we want to know precisely the place of our dead!

Do not go to my grave. Mary knows, I am not there. Look for me in between pages and on people’s lips.Do not go to my old school. Do not go to my old house —I am not in any of those places. Look for me in your hearts and greet me there.

She said once that time is nothing to me but a series of bookmarks that I use to jump back and forth through the text of my life, returning again and again to the events that mark me in the eyes of my more astute colleagues, as bearing all the characteristics of the classic melancholic.

But tears don't bring back the dead. I learned that.

Better a live dog than a dead lion.

In all of your living don’t forget to live.

The naked man who lay splayed out on his face beside the swimming pool might have been dead.

But there are times to talk to the dead, times when the dead want to talk.

Death would be an extremely bad thing like most of us paint it, if being dead were painful.

A passionate person says “over my dead body, I will never give up” and you ask him why, he answers “because I have found something not only to live on, but something to die for”!

The death of a billionaire is worth more to the media than the lives of a billion poor people.

Today here, then there, then DEAD (IT"S A FACT, you can't do anything just take it like this.... or be prepare for the worst. Who is prepared never get suprised easy!).

You as a soul you are alive, you as an actor - dead, as a character - dead... That's life, like it or not, it's not my problem!

Let my silence grow with noise as pregnant mothers grow with life. Let my silence permeate these walls as sunlight permeates a home. Let the silence rise from unwatered graves and craters left by bombs. Let the silence rise from empty bellies and surge from broken hearts. The silence of the hidden and forgotten. The silence of the abused and tortured. The silence of the persecuted and imprisoned. The silence of the hanged and massacred. Loud as all the sounds can be, let my silence be loud so the hungry may eat my words and the poor may wear my words. Loud as all the sounds can be, let my silence be loud so I may resurrect the dead and give voice to the oppressed. My silence speaks.

The author is still dead, folks!!

Or… maybe I’m not going crazy. “Maybe I’m some sort of android-cyborg-clone-thing, and I’m just breaking down.I’m not sure which way is worse.Dad laughs. “You’re not in your right mind, dear,” he says. “No, no, no, you’re not.”And then——Silence.Dad fades away. The reverie chair disappears.There’s just blackness. I remember then that I am in the reverie of something dead. Whatever that thing was, it was dead.And, just as I’m starting to wonder if, perhaps, I have died, too, I see a light, far away in the corner of the dreamscape. The light isn’t soft; it’s not glowing. It crackles like silent lightning, burning with electricity, sparks flying out and fizzling in the dark.I don’t know why—it makes no sense, the way dreams often don’t—but I want to touch the light.So I do.

The world was made for the dead. Think of all the dead there are...There's a million times more dead than living and the dead are dead a million times longer than the living are alive...

It is the best investment to make an impact on others, because even when you're dead money alone will not bury you.

when I become death. Death is the seed from which I grow.

Did you ever think it won’t be the undead who kill us, but ordinary people?