Dead Quotes - Page 2

The business of the dead belongs to the living.

But suppose the endlessly dead were to wake in us some emblem:they might point to the catkins hangingfrom the empty hazel trees, or direct us to the raindescending on black earth in early spring. ---And we, who always think of happinessrising, would feel the emotionthat almost baffles uswhen a happy thing falls.

It had been a couple of years and I was neither dead, nor undead, which I ranked as an achievement.

The dead must heed them.

The answer of life struggles in between two kinds of people- those who live to dreamand those who dream to liveAsk them the question about death if they can truly conceive

Everyone Regenerates, different ways one regenerates by watching horror and thinking of the good side. Other cry, but in the end all reliase that there isn't purpose of thinking this topic, there isn't purpose to cry. Somebody have died and that's all and It can't be changed!

Life is a process during which one initially gets less and less dependent, independent, and then more and more dependent.

Have a look around, my pretty, we are surrounded by Death in all forms – just the two of us are still alive –

How can you kill a man who'd already been dead for years?

The dead can be even more frustrating to deal with than are many of the living, which is astonishing when you consider it's the living who run the Department of Motor Vehicles.

...the dead have a way of becoming saints in the eyes of their survivors...

In a materialistic society, the dead body of a rich man’s dog is regarded as a corpse; that of a poor man, a carcass.

If you want a fried fish to fly and enter your mouth, you must keep waiting till the unending time ends. Dead fish doesn't fly. If you want to eat it, your own hands must carry it.

He looked out over the shirtless, muscled, tanned men and realised that right here, on this disco floor, there was such a concentration of fashion, slimming, money, bleaching, plastic surgery, psychotherapy – and all for naught. In a few years they’d all be old walruses, and in a few more, dead.

Every time I go to sleep, I know I may never wake up. How could anyone expect to? You drop your tiny, helpless mind into a bottomless well, crossing your fingers and hoping that when you pull it out on its flimsy fishing wire it hasn't been gnawed to bones by the beasts below. Hoping you pull up anything at all.

Suicide creates his own society: to shut yourself off from other people in some dingy, rented box and stare, like Melville's Bartleby, day in and day out at the dead wall outside your window is in itself a rejection of the world which is said to be rejecting you. It is a way of saying, like Bartleby, 'I prefer not to' to every offer and every possibility, which is a condition no amount of social engineering will cure.

Okay... I get that... but why I!?

The air around you is filled with floating atoms, sliding down the Earth's spacetime curve. Atoms first assembled in the cores of long-dead stars. Atoms within you, everywhere, disintegrating in radioactive decays. Beneath your feet, the floor - whose electrons refuse to let yours pass, thus making you able to stand and walk and run. Earth, your planet, a lump of matter made out of the three quantum fields known to mankind, held together by gravity, the so-called fourth force (even though it isn't a force), floating within and through spacetime.

This was the threshold to the place of the dead.

May the dead forgive me, I can do no otherBut as I am commanded; to do more is madness." - Ismene

Thank you, Dr. Phil, for that fine psychological assessment," I snapped and motioned my chin to Disco. "Why don't you and Oprah here go take a long walk off a short plank and do the world a favor?

The dead are often known to eat 27 and 53

Drive. He’s already dead.

There is no spoon.

What begins at the water shall end there, and what ends there shall once more begin. Words are a gift to the dead and a warning to the living.

Society is indeed a contract ... it becomes a participant not only between those who are living, those who are dead, and those who are to be born.

For a trial is initiated not to render justice but to annihilate the defendant.Even when the trial is of dead people, the point is to kill them off a second time: by burning their books; by removing their names from the schoolbooks; by demolishing their monuments; by rechristening the streets that bore their names.

It is a subliminal thing. It is the tick of a clock that has ticked so long one no longer notices. Something is in a room when a man lives in it. Something is not in the room when a man is dead in it.

The dark sky.A hundred million stars.More stars than I’ve ever seen before. My eyes let me see farther, but they don’t show me the one thing I want to see. I would trade all the stars in the universe if I could just have him back again.Wind whistles through the trees nearby. Birdsong weaves in and out of the sound.The hybrids emerge from the communication building, heads tilted to the sky.And then we see the end.Godspeed’s engine was nuclear; who knows what fueled the biological weapons. But they explode together. In space, they don’t make the familiar mushroom cloud. They don’t make the boom! of an exploding bomb.There is, against the dark sky, a brief flash of light. It is filled with colors, like a nebula or the aurora borealis, bursting like a popped bubble.Nothing else—no sound of an explosion, no tremors in the earth, no smell of smoke. Not here, on the surface of the planet.Nothing else to signify Elder’s death.Just light.And then it’s gone.And then he’s gone.

Don't consider my kindness as my weakness, the beast in me is sleeping not dead.

Because if God doesn't exist we are the creaturesof highest consciousness in the universe. We alone understand thepassage of time and the value off every minute of human life. Andwhat constitutes evil, real evil, is the taking of a single human life. Whether a man would have died tomorrow or the day after oreventually . . . it doesn't matter. Because if God does not exist, this life . . . every second of it . . . is all we have.

We're better than Galileo. Because he's dead.

I'm chasing a decade old ghost. Searching beneath the rafters of a cobweb-filled haven lined with old memories which my brain cannot accept are dead. The light of nostalgia is burning bright inside my heart. Ignoring the emptiness around me, and hoping for a resurrection of love.

No one wants to die alone, even though that's how it happens to all of us, even though we pretend there's some other ways.

I decided to stay in bed until noon. Maybe by then half the world would be dead and it would only be half as hard to take.

Who underestimates is buried in the optimism of the deads. (Qui sous-estime s'enterre - Dans l'optimisme des morts.)

It’s why we close the eyes, too. The dead shouldn’t have to look on the lewd aliveness of the living.

Instead, I opened my eyes to find the thing in front of my face, wafting dead horse breath across my chin and up my nose, its mouth like a gaping maw; its eyes, two giant wormholes, twisting and bending with some apparitional substance that could have been space and time if I’d known anything about physics.

If your existence does not make any difference, you are no more than a dead body.

You lost your son, but reality he is alive, my father I lost him I know on 99% he is dead if this is faken okay, I will know that he is alive, but who knows?? I haven't met him after I lost him, you met your son didn't you?? And then you lost him, it sounds fair does it?? (Storm Of The Century by Stephen King)

I alone knew what I had suffered. I alone knew what it felt like to be alive but dead.

Half awake and almost dead. But yet we were breathing and yet we were waiting...Waiting for a miracle to happen.

From the first, Istanbul had given him the impression of a town where, with the night, horror creeps out of the stones. It seemed to him a town the centuries had so drenched in blood and violence that, when daylight went out, the ghosts of its dead were its only population.

Sometimes things happen that give me cause to believe I no longer exist. Car park barriers which do not lift when I drive towards them, automatic doors which do not open automatically as I approach.

Unknown is interesting like the Dead zone... you never know where you will go.

Heroes didn't win. The heroes were whoever happened to win. History told their story -- the dead didn't say a word. All of it was bullshit.

The fact that you have just buried your parent or parents and/or sibling or siblings does not make you less likely to die today.

So, apart from casting runes, what other hobbies do you have? Forbidden rituals, human sacrifices, torturing? –

Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living.

I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.

You don't want to be here... neither and there... what you are going to see here is the truth after so much books, series, movies... the truth is going to have feet, legs... foot... and even a body and arms and head....

The living has a great hope, we have life to bounce back from any difficulty. The dead had no hope.

Everyone has a story with coca-cola people like Wayne Dyer even and people like Alan Rickman and many other people, so... they are dead so you can take it Coca-Cola is part of the history!

The dead are immune from our prison of Time. The distance between the living and dead may be vast, but the space of Time the dead experience when they are reunited with their loved ones is only paper-thin.

I needed nothing and was needed nowhere. I almost doubted I was alive.

One dead body required two men either to bury it or to transport it to the rear. A wounded soldier, on the other hand, immobilized five men for an indeterminate amount of time; and who knew whether it was even worth the effort.

they say every living thing requires proper nutrition to survive, they also say music is food for the soul, if that was true i would hav been long dead, hence proved that the soul which survive on music is not a soul but a desire and desires don't die until killed, we should be concerned about the soul which will be held accountable after our deaths, we should make sure our soul is not on dieting now a days

There was less than I’d expected in the rainy-day fund that Mom had kept in the bottom of an underwear drawer in a panty hose egg labeled ‘DEAD SPIDERS.’ As if I hadn’t always known it was there. As if I wouldn’t want to look at dead spiders.

All death matters.""Only to the living.

For an instant I saw before me the young girl this used to be.