We have one simple choice. We die here alone on our knees, or we stand up and we fight with our family.
The good people, they always die. And the bad people do, too. But the weak people, the people like me… we have inherited the Earth.
The dead at least have the luxury of being done with what they lost.
Of course I’m going to die! That’s the way of the world, Baudelaires. Everybody runs around with their secrets and their schemes, trying to outwit one another, and then they die.
Nothing makes the past a sweeter place to visit than the prospect of imminent death.
No one can outwit death.
Love and death are the great hinges on which all human sympathies turn.
It’s a curious thing, the death of a loved one. It’s like climbing the stairs to your room in the dark, thinking that there’s one more stair than there is. And your foot falls through the air, and there is a sickly feeling of dark surprise.
In my culture, death is not the end. They are still with us, as long as we do not forget them.
If you love someone, you’ll do anything to prevent their death.
I won’t die for this city. This city will die for me.
I think my mother’s death is the best thing to have happened to me since, well, my father’s death.
