Death Quotes — page 77

Death is the end of life; ah, why Should life all labour be?

There is an indolence in grief Which will not even seek relief. What is the toil, or care, or pain, The human heart cannot sustain? Enough if struggling can create A change or colour in our fate;

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, "Life is but an empty dream!" For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.

Love is anterior to life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and The exponent of breath.

How long, O how long will mankind worship a book? How long will they grovel in the dust before the ignorant legends of the barbaric past? How long, O how long will they pursue phantoms in a darkness deeper than death?

He mourns the dead who lives as they desire.

For the crown of our life as it closes Is darkness, the fruit thereof dust; No thorns go as deep as a rose’s, And love is more cruel than lust. Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives;

I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion – I have shudder’d at it – I shudder no more – I could be martyr’d for my Religion – Love is my religion – I could die for that – I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you …

I am not so much afraid of death, as ashamed thereof; 'tis the very disgrace and ignominy of our natures, that in a moment can so disfigure us that our nearest friends, Wife, and Children stand afraid and start at us.

Nothing can be more shocking and horrid than one of our kitchens sprinkled with blood, and abounding with the cries of expiring victims, or with the limbs of dead animals scattered or hung up here and there. It gives one the image of a …

As the liberty lads o'er the sea Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood, So we, boys, we Shall die fighting or live free, And down with all kings but King Ludd!

Life is the gathering of waves to a head, at death they break into a million fragments each one of which, however, is absorbed at once into the sea of life and helps to form a later generation which comes rolling on till it too breaks.

See in what peace a Christian can die!

If I could dwell Where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody, While a bolder note than this might swell

From out the throng and stress of lies, From out the painful noise of sighs, One voice of comfort seems to rise: "It is the meaner part that dies."

In the fire of love we live, or pass by many ways, By unnumbered ways of dream to death.

All things are hush'd, as Nature's self lay dead, The Mountains seem to nod their drowsy head; The little Birds in dreams their Songs repeat, And sleeping Flowers, beneath the night-dew sweat; Even Lust and Envy sleep.

How wonderful is Death, Death and his brother Sleep!

O more than moon, Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere, Weep me not dead, in thine arms, but forbear To teach the sea what it may do too soon.

The world was never made; It will change, but it will not fade. So let the wind range; For even and morn Ever will be Thro’ eternity.

I LOVED her! ay, I would have given A death-bed certainty of heaven If I had thought it could confer The least of happiness on her!

There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.

It's such a little thing to weep, So short a thing to sigh; And yet by trades the size of these We men and women die!

Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry aloud — and the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry. From the voiceless lips of the unreplying dead …