Lei Feng is reported to have died in a freak accident in 1962 – struck by a falling telephone pole.
My father ran a corner drug store where he worked night and day, seven days a week, until he died of a stroke. He literally worked himself to death.
I’m destiny’s child. I wasn’t meant to be born: my mother bled for four months when she was pregnant, and then she fell down the stairs in her eighth month of pregnancy. She nearly died; I believe I came into this world for a reason.
I think God just died of old age. And, when I realized that he wasn’t any more, it didn’t shock me. It seemed natural and right!
At first blush, it seems that the young people who were shot down in the parking lot at the base of Blanket Hill gave up their lives for a dream that died with them.
Then my mother was taken ill and died and my father took me to St. Mary’s.
Our dog died from licking our wedding picture.
One day when I was 8 years old, everyone was talking in hushed tones about a great scientist that had just died. His name was Albert Einstein.
I’m a born-again Christian – if everybody can agree what that means. I believe in Jesus. I believe that He died for my sins.
I met my wife, Margaret L. Mack, at the University of Chicago. We were married in 1936. She died in 1970.
My father has been a voice of encouragement in times of desperation for so many people. But he died when I was so young that, for me, his music has been a way for me to get to know him better.
I never saw my grandfather because he had died before I was born, but I have good memories of my grandmother and of how she could play the piano at the old house.
I think I would have died if there hadn’t been the women’s movement.
My mother died of metastatic colorectal cancer shortly before three P.M. on Christmas Day of 2008. I don’t know the exact time of her death, because none of us thought to look at a clock for a while after she stopped breathing.
I feel like I died as a child.
Oprah is signed on to help, and a lot of celebrity friends have agreed to help me raise money for Make-A-Wish. We want to make the world a better place for innocent children. I cried my heart out when my father died from cancer. I wish I was smarter, wiser like a doctor, to save these children from dying.
My driving habits are so ingrained that the driving examiner would fail me in the first mile. That’s provided he hadn’t died of a heart attack by then.
The bad news is that 50 people died in a hotel fire; the good news is that we got exclusive footage.
It’s a good thing to be old. Because when you get older, that means you haven’t died yet, right? And when I do get older, I want to have the grace to be proud of it, not to lie about it or try to fight it.
When my dad died a lot of songs came, and they’re still coming.
In fact, a large majority of those have died and of those expected to die of AIDS, as well as of those who are infected with the virus, are in sub-Saharan Africa.
My dad died when he was 60. I was only 17 and I think, psychologically, that had a huge impact on me, probably more than I realised.
My father, Cecil Banks Mullis, and mother, formerly Bernice Alberta Barker, grew up in rural North Carolina in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. My dad’s family had a general store, which I never saw. My grandparents on his side had already died before I started noticing things.
James Brown died owing me $50,000. But I loved James Brown.
To have died once is enough.
If Miles Davis hadn’t died it would have been interesting to do an album with him, but there wasn’t much else that would have got me into the studio… although Herbie Hancock has just been in touch about doing something and that would be an interesting combination.
God proved His love on the Cross. When Christ hung, and bled, and died, it was God saying to the world, ‘I love you.’
I can’t complain that I’ve had a public all through my writing life, but people don’t quite know what I’ve written. People don’t read you too closely. Perhaps, after I’ve died, they’ll look at my stuff, and read it through, and find there’s more in it. That may be wrong, but that’s what I comfort myself with.
When Dad died in 1998, it really hit my confidence – he’d helped me write and he thought I was really funny, but since he’d died I didn’t feel right. And it felt like no one but me even remembered him.
I have died many times. I have actually beaten Jesus Christ because he only died once.
My other brother-in-law died. He was a karate expert, then joined the army. The first time he saluted, he killed himself.
Seven years is a long time, and he was there for me, when my mum died. He was very compassionate at that time. I couldn’t have found anyone better in that situation.
There’s a belief that you’re supposed to be poor, and suffering, and show your humility. I just don’t see the Bible that way. I see that God came and Jesus died so that we might live an abundant life and be a blessing to others.
And then I bought my own horse, which I had until it died.
Jesus died to forgive our sins. Dare we make his martyrdom meaningless by not committing them?
For example, when my mother died, the people who showed up just to put an apron on to cook, people who really do the right thing, so to speak, as my momma would always say to show that they care, a sense of community that we’ve lost so much in our country.
My mother fought cancer for almost a decade and died at 56. She held out long enough to meet the first of her grandchildren and to hold them in her arms. But my other children will never have the chance to know her and experience how loving and gracious she was.
A ghost is someone who hasn’t made it – in other words, who died, and they don’t know they’re dead. So they keep walking around and thinking that you’re inhabiting their – let’s say, their domain. So they’re aggravated with you.
I truly think comedy is – being funny is DNA. My dad was a doctor, a wonderful doctor, and people still come up to me today, ‘Your father helped my mother die.’ You know what I’m saying? He made her laugh ’til she died. My father was always very funny.
My grandmother died in childbirth, and my great-aunt lived with us. She had bound feet. She never knew how to read or write.
I just heard a very funny story about somebody who died yesterday, I’m sorry to say so but it was so absurd that you can’t help laughing. And the person that was concerned about that story was laughing too.
Historically, more people have died of religion than cancer.
Sammy Sosa grew up without a father in the back of a converted public hospital in San Pedro de Macoris, a dusty seaside town in the Dominican Republic. His father, Juan Montero, died when Sosa was 5.
Has there ever been a society which has died of dissent? Several have died of conformity in our lifetime.
And I went to New York and died; for 10 years I walked those pavements. I can’t think of New York without feeling uncomfortable and feeling like a failure.
I did Albert Hall, I got to play the Hall of Fame with Prince. So I’ve done that kind of stuff for ages. It wasn’t until after we finished working on Brainwash, my dad’s album after he died, then it was like ‘That phase is over in my life now, now we can get on with our music, with our band.’
I’m obsessed with Michael Fassbender. He’s unbelievable. I think he’s a modern day Brando. Every movie that he’s done in the past couple years, I just died for him. He’s extremely fascinating.
When I was on ‘Hurt Bert’ on FX – and I’m not crapping on FX, I’m just being honest – there was a point when I realized that they didn’t care if I died. If I died, they’d say ‘Of course it’s a legal thing, but think of the numbers.’
My reason for getting into the film business was a Spider-Man comic called ‘The Night Gwen Stacy Died’ when I was a kid; it changed my life.
There is something about a poet which leads us to believe that he died, in many cases, as long as 20 years before his birth.
I grew up in a house full of faith, and my mother died when I was a little girl, and I found comfort in my faith.
My father died in ’97. But at least he lived until 93, so he saw my success.
In truth, I barely knew my father at all. He was 53 when I was born, and when I was ten he contracted cancer. Eight years later, in 1979, he died.
I had some really dear friends who died from AIDS-one in particular. His family wasn’t around and he didn’t have many friends. I spent a lot of time with him in his later days.
I lost my father. He had diabetes and high BP and so he died of kidney failure.
Since my brother died in 1982, my parents and I had formed a shaky tripod of a family; now that I’d lost my father too, it was too easy for me to glimpse a future point where I alone was the keeper of not just my own childhood memories, but of my family lore.
I remember the day tDr. King died. I wasn’t angry at the beginning. It was like something very personal in my life had been touched and finished.
My father blamed me for my brother Gunther’s death, for not bringing him home. He died in an avalanche as we descended from the summit of Nanga Parbat, one of the 14 peaks over 8,000m, in 1970. Gunther and I did so much together. It was difficult for my father to understand what it was like up there.
