If you treat every situation as a life and death matter, you'll die a lot of times.
Dean SmithMots clés life death overstatement
Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign… to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very own skin. Quirrel, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good.
J.K. RowlingThe wages of sin are death, but by the time taxes are taken out, it's just sort of a tired feeling.
If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.
Will RogersMots clés dogs death heaven afterlife
Death is not the worst thing; rather, when one who craves death cannot attain even that wish.
SophoclesMots clés death
a man was on his way to the gallows when he met another, who asked him: where are you going, my friend? and the condemned man replied: i'm not going anywhere. they're taking me by force.
José SaramagoMots clés death
Merciful death. How you love your precious guilt
Anne RiceMots clés death
To lose a brother is to lose someone with whom you can share the experience of growing old, who is supposed to bring you a sister-in-law and nieces and nephews, creatures who people the tree of your life and give it new branches. To lose your father is to lose the one whose guidance and help you seek, who supports you like a tree trunk supports its branches. To lose your mother, well, that is like losing the sun above you. It is like losing--I'm sorry, I would rather not go on.
Yann MartelMots clés family philosophy death
There is no escape—we pay for the violence of our ancestors.
Frank HerbertMots clés wisdom life truth philosophy death legacy muad-dib
You are so young, Lyra, too young to understand this, but I shall tell you anyway and you'll understand it later: men pass in front of our eyes like butterflies, creatures of a brief season. We love them; they are brave, proud, beautiful, clever; and they die almost at once. They die so soon that our hearts are continually racked with pain. We bear their children, who are witches if they are female, human if not; and then in the blink of an eye they are gone, felled, slain, lost. Our sons, too. When a little boy is growing, he thinks he is immortal. His mother knows he isn't. Each time becomes more painful, until finally your heart is broken. Perhaps that is when Yambe-Akka comes for you. She is older than the tundra. Perhaps, for her, witches' lives are as brief as men's are to us.
Philip PullmanMots clés death witches butterflies
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