Art is man's distinctly human way of fighting death.
Humor has to surprise us; otherwise, it isn't funny. It's a death knell for a writer to be labeled a humorist because then it's not a surprise anymore.
Concerning Poland, I can only say that the peoples of Central Europe and Hungary are a community in fate, to the death. Many of us would spill our blood for Poland any time. And vice versa: in an emergency, many Polish people would give his life to protect Hungarians. This has happened more than once over the course of history.
The death penalty question should be put on the agenda in Hungary.
I'm not afraid of death, but I'm in no hurry to die. I have so much I want to do first.
Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.
No matter how prepared you think you are for the death of a loved one, it still comes as a shock, and it still hurts very deeply.
People fear death even more than pain. It's strange that they fear death. Life hurts a lot more than death. At the point of death, the pain is over. Yeah, I guess it is a friend.
Pale death, with impartial step, knocks at the hut of the poor and the towers of kings.
'Biutiful' is not about death. It's about life. It's a hymn to life.
The glories of our blood and state, Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate, Death lays his icy hand on kings. Scepter and crown must tumble down, And, in the dust, be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Life without idealism is empty indeed. We just hope or starve to death.
I had reasoned this out in my mind, there was one of two things I had a right to, liberty or death; if I could not have one, I would have the other.
Why can't death - if we must have it - be always glorious, as in 'The Iliad?'
Although many of us fear death, I think there is something illogical about it.
It is possible to provide security against other ills, but as far as death is concerned, we men live in a city without walls.
It is natural to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes to that siren until she allures us to our death.
No matter how devastating our struggles, disappointments, and troubles are, they are only temporary. No matter what happens to you, no matter the depth of tragedy or pain you face, no matter how death stalks you and your loved ones, the Resurrection promises you a future of immeasurable good.
The death of an Italian tailor might not be calamitous in Catania or Cagliari, but the loss to Soho is immeasurable. We don't have Italian tailors we can spare here.
God is an immensity, while this disease, this death, which is in me, this small, tightly defined pedestrian event, is merely and perfectly real, without miracle - or instruction.
