Death & Dying—The Ultimate Quotation Collection
21 Page Essay—How to Effectively Use Quotations in Your Classroom ©
207 Page Quotation Collection on Death & Dying
This 207 page quotation collection contains the most interesting, thought-provoking, and useful quotations on Death & Dying. A unique collection presenting only pertinent and straightforward quotes that address all aspects of Death & Dying, this set of quotations includes the classic quotes as well as quotes carefully chosen from primary sources with particular attention given to quotes from women and minorities. In addition to the wisdom and guidance quotes provide, the quotations in this collection function particularly well in displays, presentations, speeches, research, students’ papers, and classroom lessons and discussions. Teachers using quotations as a lesson component directly address the Common Core Standards by facilitating critical thinking and promoting skills such as analyzing, inferencing, paraphrasing, and comparing and contrasting.
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A wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan. But...there is no word for a parent who loses a child, that’s how awful the loss is!
A TOUCH OF LOVE
I would straighten your tie,
Smooth your collar,
Pick a bit of lint from your sleeve
Before you left for your day’s affairs
And I turned my attention to mine.
Today I brushed off a leaf
That had fallen on your name.
I noticed an old doll baby with only one leg lying by the side of a Federal soldier just as it dropped from his pocket when he fell writhing in the agony of death. It was
obviously a memento of some little loved one at home which he had brought so far with him and had worn close to his heart on this day of danger and death. It was strange to see that emblem of childhood, that token of a father’s love lying there amidst the dead and dying…I dismounted, picked it up and stuffed it back into the poor fellow’s cold bosom that it might rest with him in the bloody grave which was to be forever unknown to those who loved and mourned him in his distant home.
--Confederate Soldier Charles Minor Blackford
People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write, they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in the ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the
miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.
It was a lovely May day two months before my seventh birthday when Rena, age four, was taken to Blowing Rock’s new clinic to have her tonsils removed. ‘She’ll be home in a day or so,’ my mother assured me. Rena never came home—except in a pretty little coffin decorated with cherubs, lined in white satin. She’d been administered an overdose of ether. To this day, when anyone I love leaves home for longer than a few hours, I’m filled with dread that they will not return.
Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways at the last minute, champagne in one hand, strawberries in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming ‘WOO HOO—That was Fun!’
—Hunter S. Thompson
You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals
perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance
with the limp.
Some day soon, perhaps in forty years, there will be no one alive who has ever known me. That’s when I will be truly dead—when I exist in no one’s memory. I thought a lot about how someone very old is the last living individual to have known some person or cluster of people. When that person dies, the whole cluster dies, too, vanishes from the living memory. I wonder who that person will be for me. Whose death will make me truly dead?
—Irvin D. Yalom
Death is the end of a lifetime, not the end of a relationship.
Early death—a child, a young parent, young people at war or in accidents—these are tragedies. But the death of someone who’s had a long life isn’t necessarily a tragedy.
Six feet of earth make all men equal.
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