War is not the only arena where peace is done to death. — Aung San Suu Kyi
War is not the only arena where peace is done to death. — Aung San Suu Kyi
War is not the only arena where peace is done to death. — Aung San Suu Kyi
War is not the only arena where peace is done to death. — Aung San Suu Kyi
War is not the only arena where peace is done to death. — Aung San Suu Kyi
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War is not the only arena where peace is done to death.

— Aung San Suu Kyi
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More “Death” Quotes

And anyway, it’s not as though I’ll never see Mum again, is it? — J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Listen, children:Your father is dead.From his old coatsI'll make you little jackets;I'll make you little trousersFrom hi — Edna St. Vincent Millay
From too much love of livingFrom hope and fear set free,We thank with brief thanksgivingWhatever gods may beThat no life — Algernon Charles Swinburne, The Garden of Proserpine
Oh, the torment bred in the race, the grinding scream of deathand the stroke that hits the vein,the hemorrhage none can — Aeschylus, The Oresteia Trilogy: Agamemnon/The Libation-Bearers/The Furies
He's waiting for yu, young queen.'Shocked, I stared at Seoras. 'Heath?'The Warrior's look was wise and understanding - h — P.C. Cast, Awakened
th. Closely followed—in view of the overall shortage of time—by patience. — Christopher Hitchens, Hitch-22: A Memoir
If words had weight, a single sentence from Death would have anchored a ship. — Terry Pratchett
Death doesn't really worry me that much, I'm not frightened about it... I just don't want to be there when it happens. — Woody Allen
We carry the dead with us only until we die too, and then it is we who are borne along for a little while, and then our — John Banville, The Sea
Only happy people have nightmares, from overeating. For those who live a nightmare reality, sleep is a black hole, lost — Guy Sajer, The Forgotten Soldier
Death isn't peaceful; it is just nothing. Everything is gone. No more sunrises, no more hopes, no more fears. Nothing. — Linda Howard, Kill and Tell
My love, do you recall the object which we saw,That fair, sweet, summer morn!At a turn in the path a foul carcassOn a gr — Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs Du Mal