Cine n-ar dori să moară visând că moare? — Saşa Pană, Prozopoeme
Cine n-ar dori să moară visând că moare? — Saşa Pană, Prozopoeme
Cine n-ar dori să moară visând că moare? — Saşa Pană, Prozopoeme
Cine n-ar dori să moară visând că moare? — Saşa Pană, Prozopoeme
Cine n-ar dori să moară visând că moare? — Saşa Pană, Prozopoeme
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Cine n-ar dori să moară visând că moare?

— Saşa Pană, Prozopoeme
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More “Death” Quotes

It's your life, not your death, that defines you. — J.J. Brown, Vector a Modern Love Story
In Collegium it had been the fashion, while he had been resident there, to paint death as a grey-skinned, balding Beetle — Adrian Tchaikovsky, Dragonfly Falling
There was no safety. There was no pride. All there was, was money. Everything became money, and money became everything. — Terry Pratchett, Going Postal
When my parents passed on, and we read their wills, we discovered something we didn’t at all expect, especially from our — Dave Eggers, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
How little we have, I thought, between us and the waiting cold, the mystery, death--a strip of beach, a hill, a few wall — Robert Nathan, Portrait of Jennie
Nobody knows how many North Koreans have died or are dying in the famine—some estimates by foreign-aid groups run as hig — Christopher Hitchens, Love, Poverty, and War: Journeys and Essays
If we knew what we are, we should do as Sir Arthur Jermyn did; and Arthur Jermyn soaked himself in oil and set first to — H.P. Lovecraft, Facts Concerning The Late Arthur Jermyn and his Family
It's life. You deal with it or you don't. — Pinder Buckley
What's it like?""Death? It's like being on holiday with a group of Germans. — Rob Grant
[My grandfather] returned to what he called ‘studying.’ He sat looking down at his lap, his left hand idle on the chair — Wendell Berry, Andy Catlett: Early Travels
He thought about that visionary lady. To die, he thought, never knowing the fierce joy and attendant comfort of a loved — Richard Matheson, I Am Legend and Other Stories
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and err — Anaïs Nin