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Suicide Quotes

Browse 2485 quotes about Suicide.

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Suicide Quotes

“Suicide can help pass on an individual's genes to the next generation in a situation where that individual is a burden to their close relatives and their own reproductive potential is weak. By taking their life, an individual may contribute to the reproductive success of their close relatives and thus to the proliferation of their own genes. In such a case, that individual's close relatives would have one mouth less to feed and no sick individual to look after. Indeed, several studies have shown that suicidal thoughts and suicides are more common in those who have poor chances of reproduction and who feel they are merely a burden to their loved ones.”

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Book:Evolutionary Psychiatry: Current Perspectives on Evolution and Mental Health
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“Death is my redemption,” she whispered, her tears falling on his chest before rolling into the lapping ocean. He stilled for a moment, and she felt something warm and wet slide down her right temple and past her ear. His tear. His nose brushed against her forehead, before his lips pressed a kiss to it. “It seems we're at a bit of an impasse, then. Because your survival is mine.”

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Book:Blood Shadow
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“Whenever Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, imperially slim. And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, 'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked. And he was rich--yes, richer than a king-- And admirably schooled in every grace: In fine, we thought that he was everything To make us wish that we were in his place. So on we worked, and waited for the light, And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet through his head.”

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Author:Edward Arlington Robinson
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“THE ONES WE LOSE The ones we lose Take more than themselves with them As they leave, they steal parts of you That you will never grow back Like a tree pruned too much Your blossoms are fruitless But you will heal No matter if it was peaceful, Senseless, Violent Show me your hands When you leave I want to see the parts of me that also disappear”

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Book:To Those Who Die Awake
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“THE BRIGHT ONES Even the bright ones lose their glow Even the royal lose their throne Even the dancer’s feet grow sore I can see your spirit elevated In a majestic leap toward the sky I can understand now Why we wish upon the stars at night Sometimes the ones we love wait quiet Sometimes we lose them in an instant Sometimes we don’t understand the reason I can see your mind reeling Pictures scattered across the floor It should comfort us These memories But right now I want to wage a war Even the bright ones lose their glow”

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Book:To Those Who Die Awake
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“After the service was over, I whispered to one of my fellow staff members, "If I commit suicide, I'll tattoo a message on my body. People will read the message on my body, if my dead body alone is not communication enough. I will make my message clear." "Well," he shrugged, "they could always just close the lid of the coffin.”

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Book:Holy Hunger: A Woman's Journey from Food Addiction to Spiritual Fulfillment
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“Self-destruction meant nothing to those madmen, in their bomb-shelters, who were preparing for their own death and apotheosis. All that mattered was not to destroy oneself alone and to drag a whole world with one. In a way, the man who kills himself in solitude still preserves certain values since he, apparently, claims no rights over the lives of others. The proof of this is that he never makes use, in order to dominate others, of the enormous power and freedom of action which his decision to die gives him.”

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Book:The Rebel
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“Isn't it only fair that I should get to choose how I'll die? I wouldn't die like my father did, passive and quiet while the cancer ate him alive. At least my mother did things her own way. I'd never thought to admire her before for that. At least she had guts. At least she took matters into her own hands.”

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Book:My Year of Rest and Relaxation
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“Dying / Is an art, like everything else," wrote Plath, whose lifelong flirtation with death went too far one fateful February morning. And art is nothing if not subjective. In the same vein, when I think of Virginia Woolf, it is not merely as a helpless participant in the morbid fascination that has sprung up around these two writers--but of the windows of time of their deaths. The time it took Woolf to fill her pockets with rocks. The selection of those rocks. When does a suicide begin? When do we start counting? At the riverbank or in the river? In the kitchen the night before or the next morning? Rilke warned the "we must learn to die: That is all of life. To prepare gradually the masterpiece of a proud and supreme death, of a death where chance plays no part, of a well-made, beatific, and enthusiastic death of the kind the saints knew to shape." That's nice. But it's hard to throw something like that together at the last minute. What gruesome work suicide makes of grief! Sometimes I conflate blame and action, sometimes I separate them as if in a moral centrifuge, sometimes I think it doesn't matter either way.”

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Book:Grief Is for People
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“Grief, I learned, doesn’t care how hard you attempt to understand her. She doesn’t care if you are already depressed or suffer from suicidal ideation. She doesn’t wait for you to be ready, and the longer you defer her presence, the heavier her weight becomes.”

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Book:Where the River Flows: A memoir of loss, love & life with an Eating Disorder
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“Have you ever wondered why we bury and cremate our dead? Nothing to do with hygiene, it’s just so we don’t have to see the reality of death. You know, the Zoroastrians used to leave their dead in open places for the birds to eat. Now that’s a far more honest way to go, don’t you agree? Everyone can see what happens. It makes us live our lives more potently. That’s how I want to go, at my end: openly. Not ashamed of death, but embracing it.”

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Book:Of Bodies Changed
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