I can imagine myself on my death-bed, spent utterly with lust to touch the next world, like a boy asking for his first kiss from a woman.
Turn up the lights. I don't want to go home in the dark.
I wish I had spent more time at the office and less time in prison.
Here am I, dying of a hundred good symptoms.
I feel nothing, apart from a certain difficulty in continuing to exist.
I wish I had spent more time at the office.
Too late for fruit, too soon for flowers.
Even in the valley of the shadow of death, two and two do not make six.
Why are you weeping ? Did you imagine that I was immortal ?
We are all full of weakness and errors; let us mutually pardon each other our follies - it is the first law of nature.
This is no time to make new enemies.
A death-bed's a detector of the heart.
I feel as if one would only discover on one's death-bed what one ought to have lived for, and realise too late that one's life has been wasted. Any passionate and courageous life seems good in itself, yet one feels that some element of delusion is involved in giving so much passion to any humanly attainable object. And so irony creeps into the very springs of one's being.
The real power is love, that which empowers others, that which arouses action, that which no chain is able to hold back, for even on the Cross or on the death bed one is able to love. One does not need youthful beauty, nor recognition or approval, nor money or prestige. Let love simply bloom...and it is unstoppable.
Applaud my friends, the comedy is over... [on his death bed]
And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.
If a man confessed anything on his death bed, it was the truth; for no man could stare death in the face and lie.
We Christians do not believe that Jesus Christ was the only one that ever rose from the dead. We believe that every death-bed is a resurrection; that from every grave the stone, is rolled away.
Cause at the end of the day, honestly, at the end of the day when you're in your death bed and that's it, I think it's the relationships you've had and the people that you've touched and the people that have touched you that matter.
Get your priorities straight. No one ever said on his death bed, 'Gee, if I'd only spent more time at the office.'
The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the Year On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. . . .
Believe me, those great death bed speeches are written ahead of time.
Everything’s been about the journey, I never really set out with goals for fighting; it’s been about the adventure along the way. When you’re on your death bed, it’s those stories, those little adventures that are going to be the things that you remember. It’s not so much getting there, but how you got there.
I like the story about Henry David Thoreau, who, when he was on his death bed, his family sent for a minister. The minister said, 'Henry, have you made your peace with God?' Thoreau said, 'I didn't know we'd quarreled.
Death, whether it regards ourselves or others, appears less terrible in war than at home. The cries of women and children, friends in anguish, a dark room, dim tapers, priests and physicians, are what affect us the most on the death-bed. Behold us already more than half dead and buried.
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