Death Quotes — page 66

Sleep is a death; oh, make me try By sleeping what it is to die, And as gently lay my head On my grave as now my bed.

The garlands fade, the vows are worn away; So dies her love, and so my hopes decay.

When all of genius which can perish dies.

Nothing will ever die so long as it knows what to do under the circumstances, in other words so long as it knows its business.

How beautiful is death, when earn'd by virtue! Who would not be that youth? What pity is it That we can die but once to serve our country!

"You have conquered, and I yield. Yet, henceforward art thou also dead—dead to the World, to Heaven and to Hope! In me didst thou exist—and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how utterly thou hast murdered thyself."

"Alas, alas! another day gone by, Another day and no soul come," she said; "Another year, and still I am not dead!" And with that word once more her head she raised, And on the trembling man with great eyes gazed.

By many a dream of God and man my thoughts in shining flocks were led: But as I went through Patrick Street the hopes and prophecies were dead. The hopes and prophecies were dead: they could not blossom where the feet Walked amid …

Like a led victim, to my death I'll go, And, dying, bless the hand that gave the blow.

Dire agonies, wild terrors swarm, And Death glares grim in many a form.

But ere the laughter died from out the rear, Anger in front saw profanation near; Jubal was but a name in each man's faith For glorious power untouched by that slow death Which creeps with creeping time

For what imaginable purpose was man made, if not to be "happy"?

We have fed our sea for a thousand years And she calls us, still unfed, Though there's never a wave of all her waves But marks our English dead.

For I say this is death and the sole death,— When a man's loss comes to him from his gain, Darkness from light, from knowledge ignorance, And lack of love from love made manifest.

That the dead are seen no more

Madam Life's a piece in bloom Death goes dogging everywhere: She's the tenant of the room, He's the ruffian on the stair.

In all parts cruel Grief, in all parts Fear, And Death in various Shapes seen every where.

The voice of Nature loudly cries, And many a message from the skies, That something in us never dies.

We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.

I range the fields with pensive tread, And pace the hollow rooms; And feel (companion of the dead) I'm living in the tombs.

Each gives to each, and like the star Gets back its gift in tenfold pay.To get and give and give amain The rivers run and oceans roll. O generous and high-born rain When reigning as a splendid whole! That man who lives for self alone

Cease, Man, to mourn, to weep, to wail; enjoy thy shining hour of sun; We dance along Death's icy brink, but is the dance less full of fun?

And I said in underbreath — All our life is mixed with death, — And who knoweth which is best? And I smiled to think God's greatness Flowed around our incompleteness, — Round our restlessness, His rest.

Nature has not implanted any power in man that was not meant to be exercised at times, though too often our powers have been abused. The privilege, inborn and inalienable, that every man has of dying himself, and inflicting death upon …