deathbed

It's weird, all you think about when you're young is gaining your independence, but when those final hours come, people want to go home.

I have a checklist of things I'd like to do in movies. One of them is get possessed. Die on a deathbed with a ghostly pallor - that's on my list.

Now, now my good man, this is no time to be making enemies."(Voltaire on his deathbed in response to a priest asking him that he renounce Satan.)

I love you. If you remember nothing else for the rest of your life, if you fall and hit your head and can__ remember my name, if you get so sick you__e unrecognizable, if you hate me, if you__e on your deathbed and can__ manage to even lift a finger _ remember this. I. Love. You. Always. Forever. Eternally. Is that kind of love something you can handle, Saylor?

Jakie, is it my birthday or am I dying?" (Seeing all her children assembled at her bedside in her last illness.)

...nothing more excruciating when you are fighting for your life than to have healthy people round you, squabbling over futilities. Who do you love best, and who most do you want with you? Blithering idiots: it's life itself, can't you see? It's life I love best, and life I want with me. Go hang yourselves, all of you, you're only sapping my strength when most I need it. Leave me in peace and let me grapple.

It is a dreadful thing to wait and watch for the approach of death; to know that hope is gone, and recovery impossible; and to sit and count the dreary hours through long, long, nights - such nights as only watchers by the bed of sickness know. It chills the blood to hear the dearest secrets of the heart, the pent-up, hidden secrets of many years, poured forth by the unconscious helpless being before you; and to think how little the reserve, and cunning of a whole life will avail, when fever and delirium tear off the mask at last. Strange tales have been told in the wanderings of dying men; tales so full of guilt and crime, that those who stood by the sick person's couch have fled in horror and affright, lest they should be scared to madness by what they heard and saw; and many a wretch has died alone, raving of deeds, the very name of which, has driven the boldest man away.("The Drunkard's Death")

The stony silence of death, trapped by the original gravity of our sins,and the perpetuity of a long, leisurely yawn, a world where blood and bone no longer matter.

We die a day at a time

The world slides, the world goes, and death makes equal the rich and the poor

What would I have wanted to say if I had had the opportunity to see him one more time? I would like to think that I would have kept it simple and said, __ love you,_ then just held his hand in silence, letting that thought linger in the space of the time we had left together.

Though we are terrorized by death, it's not different from birth, it just happens

On their deathbed men will speak true, they say.

Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est.(Applaud, my friends, the comedy is

When Olivier had been taken away Gamache had sat back down and stared at the sack. what could be worse than Chaos, Despair, War?What would even the Mountain flee from? Gamache had given it a lot of thought.What haunted people even, perhaps especially, on their deathbed? What chased them, tortured them and brought some of them to their knees? And Gamache thought he had the answer.Regret. Regret for things said, for things done, and not done. Regret for the people they might have been. And failed to be.Finally, when he was alone, the Chief Inspector had opened the sack and looking inside had realize he'd been wrong. The worst thing of all wasn't regret.

It's a harrowing experience to see death approaching in haste towards you, what is hell but confronting your own mortality

Why when people are on their deathbed, they finally come to terms with life?

I will miss myself in relation to others. The rareness. The exceptional differences. I will miss the gift that comes with hardship and paying the price. I will miss the tragedy of my own life. As I once spoke...emphatically, but I now repeat here, quietly__he pain, the pain is what made it so God damn beautiful. I endured. You can wait a lifetime for thirty seconds, five minutes, or for an hour to come into your life__ brief interval that makes all the suffering purposeful. In such moments of splendor and rapture__ven if the rapture be stilled, the private hours and years of reckoning are unloaded, a burden lifted and the spirit feels as it did on the happiest day of its life when it was young and untormented Or rather, unconscious of the torment waiting to be ignited.