He was a great patriot, a humanitarian, a loyal friend; provided, of course, he really is dead.

Over the centuries, mankind has tried many ways of combating the forces of evil… prayer, fasting, good works and so on. Up until Doom, no one seemed to have thought about the double-barrel shotgun. Eat leaden death, demon.

Our words will either bring life and victory or death and destruction. If we want to be happy, we have to be serious about speaking words of life that line up with God’s Word.

In war, you win or lose, live or die – and the difference is just an eyelash.

You’re going to die. You’re going to be dead. It could be 20 years, it could be tomorrow, anytime. So am I. I mean, we’re just going to be gone. The world’s going to go on without us. All right now. You do your job in the face of that, and how seriously you take yourself you decide for yourself.

In modern war… you will die like a dog for no good reason.

As men are not able to fight against death, misery, ignorance, they have taken it into their heads, in order to be happy, not to think of them at all.

Men are never really willing to die except for the sake of freedom: therefore they do not believe in dying completely.

When death, the great reconciler, has come, it is never our tenderness that we repent of, but our severity.

Death is the king of this world: ‚Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.

To some extent I liken slavery to death.

Africa is a continent in flames. And deep down, if we really accepted that Africans were equal to us, we would all do more to put the fire out. We’re standing around with watering cans, when what we really need is the fire brigade.

There’s something about death that is comforting. The thought that you could die tomorrow frees you to appreciate your life now.

Death obsesses me, yes it does. I can’t really understand why it doesn’t obsess everyone – I think it does really, I’m just a little more out about it.

Whether you like it or not, you’re forced to come to the realisation that death is out there. But I don’t fear death, I’m a fatalist. I believe when it’s your time, that’s it. It’s the hand you’re dealt.

While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die.

Death and vulgarity are the only two facts in the nineteenth century that one cannot explain away.

No matter how prepared you think you are for the death of a loved one, it still comes as a shock, and it still hurts very deeply.

Sometimes I think it would be easier to avoid old age, to die young, but then you’d never complete your life, would you? You’d never wholly know you.

One should die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly.

It is vain for the coward to flee; death follows close behind; it is only by defying it that the brave escape.

It is really very important while you are young to live in an environment in which there is no fear. Most of us, as we grow older, become frightened; we are afraid of living, afraid of losing a job, afraid of tradition, afraid of what the neighbours, or what the wife or husband would say, afraid of death.

The loss of life will be irreplaceable.

Hope travels through, nor quits us when we die.

If you die you’re completely happy and your soul somewhere lives on. I’m not afraid of dying. Total peace after death, becoming someone else is the best hope I’ve got.

They died hard, those savage men – like wounded wolves at bay. They were filthy, and they were lousy, and they stunk. And I loved them.

To abandon oneself to principles is really to die – and to die for an impossible love which is the contrary of love.

There’s a reason why the Foo Fighters don’t blast out Nirvana songs every night: because we have a lot of respect for them. You know, that’s hallowed ground. We have to be careful. We have to tread lightly. We have talked about it before, but the opportunity hasn’t really come up, or it just hasn’t felt right.

Death and life have their determined appointments; riches and honors depend upon heaven.

Death surrenders us totally to God: it makes us enter into him; we must, in return, surrender ourselves to death with absolute love and self-abandonment since, when death comes, all we can do is to surrender ourselves completely to the domination and guidance of God.

Our nature consists in motion; complete rest is death.

Whenever death may surprise us, let it be welcome if our battle cry has reached even one receptive ear and another hand reaches out to take up our arms.

Good is positive. Evil is merely privative, not absolute: it is like cold, which is the privation of heat. All evil is so much death or nonentity. Benevolence is absolute and real. So much benevolence as a man hath, so much life hath he.

In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.

The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.

A useless life is an early death.

Disease generally begins that equality which death completes.

I grew up in San Francisco. And so I’m informed in a certain kind of way about, you know, believing in democracy and believing in America. And I’m a very ardent patriot.

I intend, before the endgame looms, to die sitting in a chair in my own garden with a glass of brandy in my hand and Thomas Tallis on the iPod. Oh, and since this is England, I had better add, ‚If wet, in the library.‘ Who could say that this is bad?

Obviously, there’s a part of me that takes the world of violence and death very seriously. However, when it comes to protection, or when it comes to just the skill of shooting… I’ve gone to the range with sniper rifles and things like that.

The world is put back by the death of every one who has to sacrifice the development of his or her peculiar gifts to conventionality.

Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more.

Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure, only death can stop it.

For my name and memory I leave to men’s charitable speeches, and to foreign nations and the next ages.

Homeland or death! Socialism or death! We shall overcome!

A belief in hell and the knowledge that every ambition is doomed to frustration at the hands of a skeleton have never prevented the majority of human beings from behaving as though death were no more than an unfounded rumor.

Death is caused by swallowing small amounts of saliva over a long period of time.

The heretic is always better dead. And mortal eyes cannot distinguish the saint from the heretic.

Death, like birth, is a secret of Nature.

The call of death is a call of love. Death can be sweet if we answer it in the affirmative, if we accept it as one of the great eternal forms of life and transformation.

My father had died, and very swiftly, too, of cancer of the esophagus. He was 79. I am 61. In whatever kind of a ‚race‘ life may be, I have very abruptly become a finalist.

While I understand the passions and the anger that arise over the death of Michael Brown, giving into that anger by looting or carrying guns, and even attacking the police, only serves to raise tensions and stir chaos.

Even today we raise our hand against our brother… We have perfected our weapons, our conscience has fallen asleep, and we have sharpened our ideas to justify ourselves as if it were normal we continue to sow destruction, pain, death. Violence and war lead only to death.

You’re born. You suffer. You die. Fortunately, there’s a loophole.

If my survival caused another to perish, then death would be sweeter and more beloved.

I look forward to death with great anticipation, to meeting God face to face.

It is the cause, not the death, that makes the martyr.

There is no lonelier man in death, except the suicide, than that man who has lived many years with a good wife and then outlived her. If two people love each other there can be no happy end to it.

The slave is doomed to worship time and fate and death, because they are greater than anything he finds in himself, and because all his thoughts are of things which they devour.

Except for the young or very happy, I can’t say I am sorry for anyone who dies.

The valiant never taste of death but once.