Death Quotes — page 74

Much converse do I find in thee, Historian of my infancy! Float near me; do not yet depart! Dead times revive in thee: Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art! A solemn image to my heart.

Let none falter, who thinks he is right, and we may succeed. But, if after all, we shall fail, be it so. We still shall have the proud consolation of saying to our consciences, and to the departed shade of our country's freedom, that the …

Thou dirge Of the dying year, to which this closing night Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, Vaulted with all thy congregated might.

Nurse, O! my love is slain; I saw him go O'er the white Alps alone; I saw him, I, Assail'd, fight, taken, stabb'd, bleed, fall, and die.

The bodies and the bones of those That strove in other days to pass, Are wither'd in the thorny close, Or scatter'd blanching on the grass. He gazes on the silent dead: "They perish'd in their daring deeds."

On the horizon is a star, Its earliest, loveliest one by far ; A blush is yet upon the sky, As if too beautiful to die,— A last gleam of the setting sun, Like hope when love has just begun ;

Trust no future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act, act in the living present! Heart within, and God o'erhead!

More than the Grave is closed to me – The Grave and that Eternity To which the Grave adheres – I cling to nowhere till I fall – The Crash of nothing, yet of all – How similar appears –

Is that the idea we now have of love? If I have a child, no matter how deformed that child may be, and if it dies, nobody can make the loss to me good by bringing a more beautiful child. I want the one I loved and the one I lost.

Virtue alone has majesty in death.

Pale, beyond porch and portal, Crowned with calm leaves, she stands Who gathers all things mortal With cold immortal hands.

The grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

How shall the dead arise, is no question of my faith; to believe only possibilities, is not faith, but mere philosophy.

Good God! how often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? in every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part.

They never fail who die In a great cause.

If I die prematurely, at any rate I shall be saved from being bored by my own success.

Oh! think what anxious moments pass between The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods, Oh! 'tis a dreadful interval of time, Filled up with horror all, and big with death!

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?

Rejoice, lest pleasureless ye die. Within a little time must ye go by. Stretch forth your open hands, and while ye live Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give!

Nearer to Thee, not by delusion led, Though there no house fires burn nor bright eyes gaze, We rise, but by the symbol charioted, Through loved things rising up to Love's own ways By these the soul unto the vast has wings And sets the seal …

Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped; And they have kept it since by being dead.

No, trust the Muse: she opes the good man's grave, And lifts him to the gods.

If boys and men are to be welded together in the glow of transient feeling, they must be made of metal that will mix, else they inevitably fall asunder when the heat dies out.

Wonder, indeed, is, on all hands, dying out: it is the sign of uncultivation to wonder.