Mexican writer and diplomat, "Pasado en claro" ("A Draft of Shadows") You learn something the day you die. You learn how to die.
When belief in a god dies, the god dies.
Men die but an idea does not.
That old man dies prematurely whose memory records no benefits conferred. They only have lived long who have lived virtuously.
It is easier to die for a cause than to live for it.
The interesting thing is, while we die of diseases of affluence from eating all these fatty meats, our poor brethren in the developing world die of diseases of poverty, because the land is not used now to grow food grain for their families.
When we die to something, something comes alive within us. If we die to self, charity comes alive; if we die to pride, service comes alive; if we die to lust, reverence for personality comes alive; if we die to anger, love comes alive.
When eras die, their legacies Are left to strange police. Professors in New England guard The glory that was Greece.
If I couldn't laugh, I'd rather die.
Translation is entirely mysterious. Increasingly I have felt that the art of writing is itself translating, or more like translating than it is like anything else. What is the other text, the original? I have no answer. I suppose it is the source, the deep sea where ideas swim, and one catches them in nets of words and swings them shining into the boat... where in this metaphor they die and get canned and eaten in sandwiches.
Come! Let us lay a lance in rest, And tilt at windmills under a wild sky! For who would live so petty and unblest That dare not tilt at something ere he die; Rather than, screened by safe majority, Preserve his little life to little end, And never raise a rebel cry!
One friend dies and we remain indifferent; another dies, perhaps less intimate, and we see ourselves as dead, and weep, mourn, tear our hair or find ourselves caught up in the madness of the wake, competing with others as to who was closest, now suffers most.
And hence the poet must seek to be essentially anonymous, He must die a little death each morning, He must swallow his toad and study his vomit as Baudelaire studied la charogne of Jeanne Duval.
What will die with me when I die, what pathetic or fragile form will the world lose?
I was no longer, if I had ever been, afraid to die: I was now afraid not to die.
To learn to die is an heroic work.
If we must die, let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, If we must die, O let us nobly die.
Better that we should die fighting than be outraged and dishonored... Better to die than to live in slavery.
I was leftwing, I am leftwing, and I will die leftwing.
When a man dies, his secrets bond like crystals, like frost on a window. His last breath obscures the glass.
In any country there must be people who have to die. They are the sacrifices any nation has to make to achieve law and order.
Any time I got in emotional turmoil, I felt sick all the time, like at any minute I would die.
The media in America is not covering American AIDS very much. They're covering African AIDS as if somehow miraculously it's all stopped here. Well, it hasn't, and the one thing they're not saying about Africa is that all those people are going to die; there's no way these people can be saved - none.
Nothing ever quite dies, it just comes back in a different form.
We're all going to die.
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