Death is the mother of Beauty; hence from her, alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams and our desires.
Death is imposed only on creatures, not their creations, and has therefore always appeared in art in a broken form: as allegory.
Of all the logical impasses, unknowings, paradoxes, and terrors that provoke laughter, death by its finality and unsolvable mystery is paramount.
An evil life is a kind of death.
Death not merely ends life, it also bestows upon it a silent completeness, snatched from the hazardous flux to which all things human are subject.
I’m not personally obsessed with death. At a certain age, the light that you live in is inhabited by the shades – it ’tis.
I am the living death, a Memorial Day on wheels. I am your Yankee Doodle Dandy, your John Wayne come home, your Fourth of July firecracker exploding in the grave.
No true believer could be intolerant or a persecutor. If I were a magistrate and the law carried the death penalty against atheists, I would begin by sending to the stake whoever denounced another.
The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
As an Egyptian, I was always frustrated, just like many young Egyptians, of the situation in the country. And to a large extent, we didn’t know what could we do. And looking at Khaled’s photo after his death; basically I just felt that we are all Khaled Said.