It was a great mistake, my being born a man, I would have been much more successful as a seagull or a fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must be a little in love with death!

Eugene O'Neill

Stichwörter: home death belonging outsider



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No one here gets out alive.

Jim Morrison

Stichwörter: life death verse



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Older men declare war. But it is youth that must fight and die.

Herbert Hoover

Stichwörter: age war death youth old-age fighting



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Death should take me while I am in the mood.

Nathaniel Hawthorne

Stichwörter: humor death



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It was the nature of his profession that his experience with death should be greater than for most and he said that while it was true that time heals bereavement it does so only at the cost of the slow extinction of those loved ones from the heart's memory which is the sole place of their abode then or now. Faces fade, voices dim. Seize them back, whispered the sepulturero. Speak with them. Call their names. Do this and do not let sorrow die for it is the sweetening of every gift.

Cormac McCarthy

Stichwörter: death



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Dead. Never been that before. Not even once.

Jasper Fforde

Stichwörter: humor death



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Death, I had discovered long ago, was available in varying flavors, and none of them particularly palatable.

Jasper Fforde

Stichwörter: humor death



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After all, what's a life, anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die.

E.B. White

Stichwörter: life death birth



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If it's natural to kill, how come men have to go into training to learn how?

Joan Baez

Stichwörter: death violence killing



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The trigger gave; I felt the smooth underside of the butt; and there, in that noise, sharp and deafening at the same time, is where it all started. I shook off the sweat and the sun. I knew that I had shattered the harmony of the day, the exceptional silence of a beach where I'd been happy. Then I fired four more times at the motionless body where the bullets lodged without leaving a trace. And it was like knocking four quick times on the door of unhappiness.

Albert Camus

Stichwörter: death



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