|
DEATh quotes
Death and love are the two wings that bear the good man to heaven.
Every minute dies a man, and one and one-sixteenth is born.
It is as natural to man to die, as to be born; and to a little infant, perhaps the one is as painful as the other.
Living is death; dying is life.—On this side of the grave we are exiles, on that, citizens; on this side, orphans; on that, children; on this side, captives; on that, freemen; on this side disguised, unknown; on that, disclosed and proclaimed as the sons of God.
As long as we are living, God will give us living grace, and he wont give us dying grace till it's time to die. What's the use of trying to feel like dying when you aint dying, nor anywhere near
jt?
How shocking must thy summons be, O death, to him that is at ease in his possessions! who, counting on long years of pleasure here, is quite unfurnished for the world to come.
O death! We thank thee for the light that thou wilt shed upon our ignorance.
I believe that a family lives but a half life, until it has sent its forerunners into the heavenly world, until those who linger here can cross the river, and fold transfigured a glorious form in the embrace of an endless life.
Let dissolution come when it will, it can do the Christian no harm, for it will be but a passage out of a prison into a palace; out of a sea of troubles into a haven of rest; out of a crowd of enemies, to an innumerable company of true, loving, and faithful friends; out of shame, reproach, and contempt, into exceeding great and eternal glory.
Tom's no more—and so no more of Tom.
Death, to a good man, is but passing through a dark entry, out of one little dusky room of his father's house, into another that is fair and large, lightsome and glorious, and divinely entertaining.
Death is like thunder in two particulars: we are alarmed at the sound of it, and it is formidable only from that which preceded it.
Death is the liberator of him whom freedom cannot release; the physician of him whom medicine cannot cure; the comforter of him whom time cannot console.
When I am dying I want to know that I have a similarity to God, so that my will is the same as his will, and that I love and hate and wish what he does.
Cullen, in his last moments, whispered, "I wish I had the power of writing or speaking, for then I would describe to you how pleasant a thing it is to die."'
This world is the land of the dying; the next is the land of the living.
Death has nothing terrible which life has not made so. A faithful Christian life in this world is the best preparation for the next.
Death stamps the characters and conditions of men for eternity.—As death finds them in this world, so will they be in the next.
Let death be daily before your eyes, and you will never entertain any abject thought, nor too eagerly covet anything.
He who always waits upon God, is ready whensoever he calls.—He is a happy man who so lives that death at all times may find him at leisure to die.
Death is not, to the Christian, what it has often been called, "Paying the debt of nature." No, it is not paying a debt; it is rather like bringing a note to a bank to obtain solid gold in exchange for it. You bring a cumbrous body which is nothing worth, and which you could not wish to retain long; you lay it down, and receive for it, from the eternal treasures, liberty, victory, knowledge, and rapture.
What a superlatively grand and consoling idea is that of death! Without this radiant idea—this delightful morning star, indicating that the luminary of eternity is going to rise, life would, to my view, darken into midnight melancholy. The expectation of living here, and living thus always, would be indeed a prospect of overwhelming despair. But thanks to that fatal decree that dooms us to die; thanks to that gospel which opens the visions of an endless life; and thanks above all to that Saviour friend who has promised to conduct the faithful through the sacred trance of death, into scenes of Paradise and everlasting delight.
No man who is fit to live need fear to die. To us here, death is the most terrible thing we know. But when we have tasted its reality it will mean to us birth, deliverance, a new creation of ourselves. It will be what health is to the sick man; what home is to the exile; what the loved one given back is to the bereaved. As we draw near to it a solemn gladness should fill our hearts. It is God's great morning lighting up the sky. Our fears are the terror of children in the night. The night with its terrors, its darkness, its feverish dreams, is passing away; and when we awake it will be into the sunlight of God.
There is no better armor against the shafts of death than to be busied in God's service.
The ancients feared death; we, thanks to Christianity, fear only dying.
The bad man's death is horror; but the just does but ascend to glory from the dust.
A wise and due consideration of our latter end, is neither to render us sad, melancholy, disconsolate, or unfit for the business and offices of life; but to make us more watchful, vigilant, industrious, sober, cheerful, and thankful to that God who hath been pleased thus to make us serviceable to him, comfortable to ourselves, and profitable to others; and after all this, to take away the bitterness and sting of death, through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Death did not first strike Adam, the first sinful man, nor Cain, the first hypocrite, but Abel, the innocent and righteous.—The first soul that met death overcame death; the first soul parted from earth went to heaven.—Death argues not displeasure, because he whom God loved best dies first, and the murderer is punished with living.
I never think he is quite ready for another world who is altogether weary of this.
We sometimes congratulate ourselves at the moment of waking from a troubled dream; it may be so the moment after death.
Leaves have their time to fall, and flowers to wither at the Northwind's breath, and stars to set—but all, thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death!
Death is as the foreshadowing of life. We die that we may die no more.
Whom the gods love die young no matter how long they live.
A dislike of death is no proof of the want of religion. The instincts of nature shrink from it, for no creature can like its own dissolution.—But though death is not desired, the result of it may be, for dying to the Christian is the way to life eternal.
To neglect, at any time, preparation for death, is to sleep on our post at a siege; to omit it in old age, is to sleep at an attack.
The air is full of farewells to the dying, and mournings for the dead.
There is no death! What seems so is transition; this life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life elysian, whose portal we call death.
The gods conceal from men the happiness of death, that they may endure life.
We picture death as coming to destroy; let us rather picture Christ as coming to save. We think of death as ending; let us rather think of life as beginning, and that more abundantly. We think of losing; let us think of gaining. We think of parting, let us think of meeting. We think of going away; let us think of arriving. And as the voice of death whispers "You must go from earth," let us hear the voice of Christ saying, "You are but coming to Me!"
He whom the gods love, dies young.
Men fear death, as if unquestionably the greatest evil, and yet no man knows that it may not be the greatest good.
It matters not at what hour the righteous fall asleep.—Death cannot come untimely to him who is fit to die.—The less of this cold world the more of heaven; the briefer life, the earlier immortality.
Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.
It is not death, it is dying that alarms me.
He who should teach men to die, would, at the same time, teach them to live.
I know of but one remedy against the fear of death that is effectual and that will stand the test either of a sick-bed, or of a sound mind—that is, a good life a clear conscience, an honest heart, and a well-ordered conversation; to carry the thoughts of dying men about us and so to live before we die as we shall wish we had when we come to it.
Not by lamentations and mournful chants ought we to celebrate the funeral of a good man, but by hymns, for in ceasing to be numbered with mortals he enters upon the heritage of a diviner life.
If thou expect death as a friend, prepare to entertain him; if as an enemy, prepare to overcome him.—Death has no advantage except when he comes as a stranger.
Death expecteth thee everywhere; be wise, therefore, and expect death everywhere.
On death and judgment, heaven and hell, who oft doth think, must needs die well.
The darkness of death is like the evening twilight; it makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying.
Each departed friend is a magnet that attracts us to the next world.
If Socrates died like a philosopher, Jesus Christ died like a God.
Is death the last sleep? No, it is the last and final awakening.
Ah! what a sign it is of evil life, when death's approach is seen so terrible!
Be still prepared for death: and death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.
The sense of death is most in apprehension, and the poor beetle that we tread upon feels a pang as great as when a giant dies.
We call it death to leave this world, but were we once out of it, and enstated into the happiness of the next, we should think it were dying indeed to come back to it again.
Be of good cheer about death, and know this of a truth, that no evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death.
We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love.
Death opens the gate of fame, and shuts the gate of envy after it.—It unloosens the chain of the captive, and puts the bondsman's task in another's hands.
It is impossible that anything so natural, so necessary, and so universal as death, should ever have been designed by Providence as an evil to mankind.
Every minute dies a man, every minute one is born.
Each person is born to one possession which outvalues all the others—his last breath.
One may live as a conqueror, a king, or a magistrate; but he must die a man. The bed of death brings every human being to his pure individuality, to the intense contemplation of that deepest and most solemn of all relations—the relation between the creature and his Creator.
The good die first; and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust burn to the socket.
Death is the crown of life.—Were death denied, poor man would live in vain; to live would not be life; even fools would wish to die.
The chamber where the good man meets his fate is privileged beyond the common walk of virtuous life, quite on the verge of heaven.
Man's highest triumph, man's profoundest fall, the death-bed of the just is yet undrawn by mortal hand; it merits a divine: angels should paint it, angels ever there; there, on a post of honor and of joy.
Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.
|
