Dead Language Quotes

The groups of muscles that have become virtually unnecessary in modern life, though still a vital element of a man's body, are obviously pointless from a practical point of view, and bulging muscles are as unnecessary as a classical education is to the majority of practical men. Muscles have gradually become something akin to classical Greek. To revive the dead language, the discipline of the steel was required; to change the silence of death into the eloquence of life, the aid of steel was essential. ~ Yukio Mishima

I am the androgyne, I am the living mind you fail to describe in your dead language the lost noun, the verb surviving only in the infinitive the letters of my name are written under the lids of the newborn child ~ Adrienne Rich

Our culture is like a garment that does not fit us, or in any case no longer fits us. This culture is like a dead language that no longer has anything in common with the language of the street. It is increasingly alien to our lives. ~ Jean Dubuffet

Why do we like being Irish? Partly because
It gives us a hold on the sentimental English
As members of a world that never was,
Baptised with fairy water;
And partly because Ireland is small enough
To be still thought of with a family feeling,
And because the waves are rough
That split her from a more commercial culture;
And because one feels that here at least one can
Do local work which is not at the world's mercy
And that on this tiny stage with luck a man
Might see the end of one particular action.
It is self-deception of course;
There is no immunity in this island either;
A cart that is drawn by somebody else's horse
And carrying goods to somebody else's market.
The bombs in the turnip sack, the sniper from the roof,
Griffith, Connolly, Collins, where have they brought us?
Ourselves alone! Let the round tower stand aloof
In a world of bursting mortar!
Let the school-children fumble their sums
In a half-dead language;
Let the censor be busy on the books; pull down the
Georgian slums;
Let the games be played in Gaelic.
Let them grow beet-sugar; let them build
A factory in every hamlet;
Let them pigeon-hole the souls of the killed
Into sheep and goats, patriots and traitors.
And the North, where I was a boy,
Is still the North, veneered with the grime of Glasgow,
Thousands of men whom nobody will employ
Standing at t ~ Louis MacNeice

There were new words for everything in their dead language put back to use. New words for the jets and their radar systems. New words for the tanks and the radios inside. But for this, for the hammer and beat of the forge, the Bible still sufficed. ~ Nathan Englander

I should think a dead language would be rather boring, socially
speaking. ~ Sol Luckman

I pointed at Ascanio. Not another word. Latin is a dead language, but that doesn't mean you get to molest its corpse. Finish sweeping, ianitor. ~ Ilona Andrews

A scholar is like a book written in a dead language. It is not every one that can read in it. ~ William Hazlitt

The face of the water, in time, became a wonderful book- a book that was a dead language to the uneducated passenger, but which told its mind to me without reserve, delivering its most cherished secrets as clearly as if it uttered them with a voice. And it was not a book to be read once and thrown aside, for it had a new story to tell every day. ~ Mark Twain

I want to write my own eulogy, and I want to write it in Latin. It seems only fitting to read a dead language at my funeral. ~ Jarod Kintz

The man of science, who is not seeking for expression but for a fact to be expressed merely, studies nature as a dead language.
I pray for such inward experience as will make nature significant. ~ Henry David Thoreau

You're a dead language, you know that? No one is like you, and you are like no one. ~ Tarryn Fisher

My love translated sounds like a dead language. ~ Salma Deera

To remember
Is not to rehearse, but to hear what never
Has fallen silent. ~ W.S. Merwin

Would have. Could have. Should have. This is the language of condemnation underscored by the passivity of regret. It's a dead language. The thing is, you can't un-sin. You can only repent. ~ Steven Furtick

To knot a sentence up properly, it has to be thought out carefully, and revised. New phrases have to be put in; sudden changes of subject must be introducted; verbs must be shifted to unsuspected localities; short words must be excised with ruthless hand; archaisms must be sprinkled like sugar-plums upon the concoction; the fatal human tendency to say things straightforwardly must be detected and defeated by adroit reversals; and, if a glimmer of meaning yet remain under close scrutiny, it must be removed by replacing all the principal verbs by paraphrases in some dead language. ~ Aleister Crowley

Of all the awful things demons do, keeping Latin alive when it deserves to be a dead language might be the worst.
To say nothing of ancient Sumerian. And ancient Sumerian translated into Latin? Diabolic. ~ Kiersten White

Latin is a dead tongue
And Romans made songs!
Then no one disagree:
It delighted them in theory
Now it's "the Latin" in me. ~ Ana Claudia Antunes

Melancholy persons are foreigners in their mother tongue. The dead language they speak foreshadows their suicide. ~ David Kyuman Kim

A dead language is not only one no longer spoken or written, it is unyielding language content to admire its own paralysis. Like statist language, censored and censoring. Ruthless in its policing duties, it has no desire or purpose other than maintaining the free range of its own narcotic narcissism, its own exclusivity and dominance. However moribund, it is not without effect for it actively thwarts the intellect, stalls conscience, suppresses human potential. Unreceptive to interrogation, it cannot form or tolerate new ideas, shape other thoughts, tell another story, fill baffling silences. ~ Toni Morrison

We were the lucky ones, the notthese, we were the ones who had survived the aerial bombing and fire-clusters, the final flash. Regrettable, unavoidable, a war to end all wars, a war for democracy, a war for freedom, peaceful war. Sometimes war is necessary. Sometimes war is right.
But to the broken and the dead, to the wounded and the maimed, to the exploded and the shrapnelshattered, to minds gone dark, to eyes that have seen agony no tears can wash away, it hardly matters that the dead language of war repeats itself through time. The bodies that can say nothing have the last word.
What is it - the last word? No.
No more war. ~ Jeanette Winterson

Immensely clever and libidinously hilarious.The most astonishing thing about Love in a Dead Language is its ingenious construction. Insofar as any printed volume can lay claim to being a multimedia work, this book earns that distinction. ~ Paul Di Filippo

Latin is already a dead language, man ... don't make it any deader. ~ Jerry Scott

Whether or not it's moral to let language extinction occur, it is the case that languages are irreplaceable records of the development of human societies and alternate windows into the human mind. When a language dies, we lose the knowledge that was encoded in it. Though we assume that when knowledge is lost, it has been superseded by a superior version, a dead language, with all its unique ways of carving up the world, is as irreplaceable as the dodo or the Tyrannosaurus rex. ~ Christine Kenneally

When I need to be precise about a plant, I use its Latin name, even if my nongardening friends sometimes look at me a little funny for using big words in a dead language - or in the kind of horticultural Esperanto that botanical names make up. ~ Allen Lacy

Charlotte was in pain, Charlotte was in torment, but he himself had given her reason enough for that; and, in respect to the rest of the whole matter of her obligation to follow her husband, that personage and she, Maggie, had so shuffled away every link between consequence and cause that the intention remained, like some famous poetic line in a dead language subject to varieties of interpretation. What ~ Henry James

Well, good luck,' the Vietnam verbal tic...It was as though people couldn't stop themselves from saying it, even when they actually meant to express the opposite wish, like, 'Die, motherfucker.' Usually it was only an uninhabited passage of dead language, sometimes it came out five times in a sentence, like punctuation, often it was spoken flat side up to telegraph the belief that there wasn't any way out; tough shit, sin loi, smack it, good luck. Sometimes, though, it was said with such feeling and tenderness that it could crack your mask, that much love where there was so much war. Me too, every day, compulsively, good luck: to friends in the press corps going out on operations, to grunts I'd meet at firebases and airstrips, to the wounded, the dead and all the Vietnamese I ever saw getting fucked over by us and each other, less often but most passionately to myself, and though I meant it every time I said it, it was meaningless. It was like telling someone going out in a storm not to get any on him, it was the same as saying, 'Gee, I hope you don't get killed or wounded or see anything that drives you insane.' You could make all the ritual moves, carry your lucky piece, wear your magic jungle hat, kiss your thumb knuckle smooth as stones under running water, the Inscrutable Immutable was still out there, and you kept on or not at its pitiless discretion. All you could say that wasn't fundamentally lame was something like, 'He who bites it this day is safe from the next,' a ~ Michael Herr

Better than chanting a thousand words in a dead language is one soothing word spoken in the vernacular. ~ Gautama Buddha

Once upon a time in the dead of winter in the Dakota Territory, Theodore Roosevelt took off in a makeshift boat down the Little Missouri River in pursuit of a couple of thieves who had stolen his prized rowboat. After several days on the river, he caught up and got the draw on them with his trusty Winchester, at which point they surrendered. Then Roosevelt set off in a borrowed wagon to haul the thieves cross-country to justice. They headed across the snow-covered wastes of the Badlands to the railhead at Dickinson, and Roosevelt walked the whole way, the entire 40 miles. It was an astonishing feat, what might be called a defining moment in Roosevelt's eventful life. But what makes it especially memorable is that during that time, he managed to read all of Anna Karenina. I often think of that when I hear people say they haven't time to read. ~ David McCullough

I ... take a selfie with him; two, to be safe. My lips are parted, as if I'm poking a dead thing to see if it'll come to life; it's the phone I'm attempting to keep at a distance. He's smiling faintly, as if amuse by some exotic piece of wildlife. ~ Amit Chaudhuri

Colder by the hour, more dead with every breath. ~ John Green

We also have volumes of writings by the "apostolic fathers," who were the earliest Christian writers after the New Testament. They authored the Epistle of Clement of Rome, the Epistles of Ignatius, the Epistle of Polycarp, the Epistle of Barnabas, and others. In many places these writings attest to the basic facts about Jesus, particularly his teachings, his crucifixion, his resurrection, and his divine nature. "Which of these writings do you consider most significant?" I asked. Yamauchi pondered the question. While he didn't name the one he thought was most significant, he did cite the seven letters of Ignatius as being among the most important of the writings of the apostolic fathers. Ignatius, the bishop of Antioch in Syria, was martyred during the reign of Trajan before A.D. 117. "What is significant about Ignatius," said Yamauchi, "is that he emphasized both the deity of Jesus and the humanity of Jesus, as against the docetic heresy, which denied that Jesus was really human. He also stressed the historical underpinnings of Christianity; he wrote in one letter, on his way to being executed, that Jesus was truly persecuted under Pilate, was truly crucified, was truly raised from the dead, and that those who believe in him would be raised, too. Put all this together- Josephus, the Roman historians and officials, the Jewish writings, the letters of Paul and the a ~ Lee Strobel

The last entry in Anne's diary is dated August 1, 1944. On August 4, 1944, the eight people hiding in the Secret Annex were arrested. Miep Gies and Bep Voskuijl, the two secretaries working in the building, found Anne's diaries strewn all over the floor. Miep Gies tucked them away in a desk drawer for safekeeping. After the war, when it became clear that Anne was dead, she gave the diaries, unread, to Anne's father, Otto Frank. ~ Anne Frank

We're all dead ... Some of us are just a little further along than others. ~ Rick Yancey

Additionally, many widows took over family shops or businesses- and, not uncommonly, ran them better than their dead husbands. Y.pestis [black death germ] turns out to have been something of a feminist. ~ John Kelly

Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer, dead at 53. Over Barcelona today, the famed reindeer was hit by a flock of seagulls and a 747. Eyewitnesses report, that the reindeer in Spain was hit mainly by the plane. ~ Colin Mochrie

William looked at the mushrooms warily. "You know your way around these things, do you?" "I do. An archer knows all the poisons in the woods. They're useful for tipping arrows. These are perfectly harmless." He popped one in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "If I'm not dead by the time the bird is cooked, you will know I speak true. Now for dessert ... ." He took another cloth from inside his shirt and opened it. "Blackberries." They ~ Eli Easton

He said only, "Bad people. Some very bad people."
Uncle Chris's mouth flattened into a small, thin line. Then he nodded crisply. He knew all about bad people. John was speaking in a language he understood.
"Is it drugs?" Uncle Chris asked, in a hushed voice.
I looked at John, in his black jeans and T-shirt, with his long dark hair, and studded leather wristbands. I could see why Uncle Chris had asked. To someone of his generation, it would have to be either drugs, or…well, a rock band.
John gave me a barely perceptible shake of his head. No, his eyes begged me. Don't.
"Yes," I said, glancing back at Uncle Chris. "It's drugs."
John's gaze instantly rolled towards the sky.
"Piercey," Uncle Chris said, exhaling gustily and dragging a hand through his hair. "We talked about this. I thought you were the one I didn't have to worry about."
We had talked about something along those lines, I remembered, outside this very house, the night before Jade was killed. But it had been about Uncle Chris giving me driving lessons. I didn't recall drugs being mentioned.
"Well," I said. "Things are a little messed up right now. That's why we're here. I wanted to make sure Alex is okay."
"Alex?" Uncle Chris threw me a look of alarm. "Don't tell me Alex is doing drugs."
I could see now why John had been against lying about the drugs thing. I'd thought it would simplify things. But it was only making them worse.
"He's not," I said quickly. ~ Meg Cabot

I really love Anglo music, and the language as well. Like, my kids, they - born here, Miami. So I just - a little bit more familiar with the language. ~ Juanes

And of course the word love has many shades of meaning, as do many, many of the words in our living, breathing language ~ Mary Balogh

No Hindu community, however low, will touch cow's flesh. On the other hand, there is no community which is really an Untouchable community which has not something to do with the dead cow. Some eat her flesh, some remove the skin, some manufacture articles out of her skin and bones. ~ B.R. Ambedkar

My love disappeared, along with the evidence of her dead body. ~ Jarod Kintz

Let others seek renown in arms; For me wine's wars have greater charms: Then fill the bowl, boy; fill it high: 'Tis better drunk, than dead to lie. ~ Anacreon

I spoke the language the sentences that had lied their grandfathers and sent their grandmothers to the worlds first concentration camps. ~ Bryce Courtenay

Give me back my dead cow! ~ Kirkland Ciccone

Mercy: "Can't sleep with a dead man in my closet."
Ben: "You killed someone?" Ben asked with interest ~ Patricia Briggs

But that's the thing about dead people: they can't warn you to keep your nose out of things that are going to put your ass in danger. ~ LynDee Walker

I'm fixin to go do somethin dumbern hell but I'm goin anyways. If I dont come back tell Mother I love her.
Your mother's dead Llewelyn.
Well I'll tell her myself then. ~ Cormac McCarthy

I am ewe to your ram. How can I call myself a man anymore?"
"The penis is a dead giveaway. ~ Jill Knowles

Can I have a tattoo?"
"Ask Dad."
"He says over my dead body."
"Well, then."
"Can I get one if I'm older?"
"Yeah. If you still want one when you grow a brain."
"When I'm seven? Cos that's well old."
"Aahh... bit older than that, maybe."
She goes tearing out of the room yelling, "PIP SAYS I CAN GET A TATTOO WHEN I'M EIGHT! ~ Richard Rider

Or winters when the sloughs were frozen over and dead and i could walk across the ice and snow between the dead cattails and see nothing but grey skies and dead things and cold ~ Robert M. Pirsig

They used to say, "A penny for your thoughts". I have heard that zombies will pay up to $5 a pound for your brains. Inflation even affects the dead!!! ~ Neil Leckman

You're staring blankly at the fifties now. I'm thirty-ish. Once you were my teacher, my master and I was your student, your apprentice. College years long gone and a decade between us. I think of you every winter and my heart still stops dead, my mouth opening and shutting as if you were still here. I lost something when I found you, something ancient. ~ Abigail George

She wanted to leave the house and dance the world away until she fell down dead. For her, every passing minute meant more lost time. Inside the house, she was condemned to live a cloistered life, whereas outside those confining walls, the entire world was enjoying itself. It was like an eternal party... ~ Diamela Eltit

For I must wander
On the deep sea bed
Showering pearls on dead man
Gathering shells
And sweeping the shadows of passing boats
With my falling hair
Across the sliding sands into the mouth of hell ~ Joyce Mansour

I had often marked the contrast between their almost ludicrous gaiety and my lonely existence, sometimes with scorn, sometimes with a feeling of deprivation. But never until today had I felt with as much calm and secret strength how little it mattered to me, how remote and dead this world was for me. ~ Hermann Hesse

Since then he had been walking with a ghost: the miserable ghost of his illusion. Only he had somehow vivified, coloured, substantiated it, by the force of his own great need – as a man might breathe a semblance of life into a dear drowned body that he cannot give up for dead. ~ Edith Wharton

Why are you all here?" "One of Bantazar's assassins hit you with an exomangler," Lore said. "He's dead." "A lot dead." Wraith snorted and high-fived Lore. "Massive deadness. ~ Larissa Ione

The dead won't bother you, it's the living you have to worry about. ~ John Wayne Gacy

Take the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag. I remember as a child how I used to choke up every morning "I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." Now it didn't say, "I pledge allegiance to racism, to capitalism, and to neo­colonialism, and J. Edgar Hoover, and Richard Nixon, .and Ronald Reagan, and Mace, and billy clubs and dead niggers on the street shot by pigs." I mean it didn't say that shit, you see. ~ Eldridge Cleaver

On the plantations the slave owners would take their slaves' drums away because they didn't want them communicating with other slaves. They were afraid that the drum was some kind of magic signal system, a primal, coded language, which it was. And is. When the drums were taken away, other instruments were taken up - fifes and fiddles and the rest, and they were used for celebration and lamentation both, and a new kind of song sprung up, a work song, to document the labor in the fields, to pass the time, to pass on the content of the time, so that people would know what had happened. ~ Ahmir Questlove Thompson

He drank a good deal at times. But the alcohol did not seem to affect him. His stony expression never changed. But sometimes a strange, flashing glance from his cold eyes would rest upon Anna, full of some burning fierceness that was like hatred, and he would force her to drink with him, force her to swallow a little glassful of fiery spirit at a single gulp.
'I ought to shoot you, really,' he said to her once, in a dead voice. 'Conscientiously, it would be the best thing for me to do.'
She saw from the grave concentration on his face that his conscience did actually require him to kill her. And this puzzled her because she could not understand why her death should be a conscientious necessity. The thought of being shot did not seem to cause her any concern. ~ Anna Kavan

Once someone's dead, being sorry doesn't cut it. If you hit a man, you can apologize. If you destroy his property, you can pay him back. But if you take his life, there's nothing you can ever do to make that right. Do you understand? ~ William Kent Krueger

Asking Wolf to couples' skate is like bungee jumping without a cord-it may be the bravest thing I've ever done in my life.
Or it could be the stupidest.
There's only one way to find out.
I look him dead in the eyes, summoning up both my courage and my sense of reckless abandon, but before I can even speak one syllable-
"Oh!" he says, looking over one shoulder and dropping his hands. "Kaitlyn's free now. I gotta get over there!"
He rushes off, blowing me an air kiss.
My mouth should get used to falling open when he's around, either from his good looks or from his total lack of comprehension of all things polite. Did that just happen?
My face in my palms, I lean on my elbows against the rail, invisible, and fall into an intoxicating state of self-pity. ~ Alecia Whitaker

Hungarian Language - savage it may be but of a beauty that has nothing human about it, with sonorities of another universe, powerful and corrosive, appropriate to prayer, to groans and to tears, risen out of hell to perpetuate its accent and its aura ... words of nectar and cyanide. ~ Emile M. Cioran