Suzanne Somers Quotes

People always say things like, Oh, well, he was suffering so much that he was better off dying. But that's not true. You're always better off living.

My parents never told me about Papa's lung cancer or the desperate nature of the operations he was about to undergo, which were a last-ditch effort to contain the spread of his cancer.

"I'm going over the valley." (Dying from throat cancer, his doctor found him wandering around his room, asked him where was he going?)

A person's last moments are an important thing. You can't choose how you're born but you can choose how you die.

Americans of all ages deserve quality end-of-life medical care.

Hospice means end-of-life care. The admission ticket is a diagnosis from a doctor that you have six months or less to live.

We could keep his body going, but it was trying its hardest to die.

A few months before my dad died, his eyes had started to go, and his skin was turning green. When he finally went to hospital, he was diagnosed with late-stage pancreatic cancer. None of us kids knew why the old man ignored the doctors and refused their help, but none of us were surprised, either.

Before he died, my dad had three primary cancers over 20 years, and for four of those years, he was having chemo every day. We got used to sitting as a family at the table and him not to be able to taste what we were tasting.

No one should be allowed to give back the gift of life, unless they are very old and full of tears, when the body outlives the spirit, when they should be allowed to join the others who've already gone.

When I cannot stand alone, it will be time to die.

The right time to die is never exactly now.

I'm dying, but otherwise I'm in very good health.

The doctors allow one to die, the charlatans kill.

Death is what men want when the anguish of living is more than they can bear.

We'll need to make a litter to carry him," said Osha. "No use," said Luwin. "I'm dying, woman." "You can't," said Rickon angrily. "No you can't." Beside him, Shaggydog bared his teeth and growled. The maester smiled. "Hush now, child, I'm much older than you. I can . . . die as I please.

In quixotically trying to conquer death doctors all too frequently do no good for their patients' ease but at the same time they do harm instead by prolonging and even magnifying patients' dis-ease.

Many, if not most, Americans can imagine a fate worse than death, and it is a seemingly interminable process of dying. For them, it is frightening that politicians can find ways to interject themselves into this sad process.

Sister, you're trying to keep me alive as an old curiosity, but I'm done, I'm finished, I'm going to die.

A long disease seems to be a halting place between life and death, that death itself may be a comfort to those who die and to those who are left behind.

Each man is master of his own death, and all that we can do when the time comes is to help him die without fear of pain.

When one has not long to live, why shouldn't one have fancies?

And in bed, deep inside the building, are all the headaches that won't go away. The failed kidneys, the rashes, the ragged-edged moles, the lumps on the breast, the coughs that have turned nasty. In the Marie Curie Ward on the fourth floor are the kids with cancer. Their bodies secretly and slowly being consumed. And then there's the mortuary, where the dead lie in refrigerated drawers with name tags on their feet.

The evidence is that people who enter hospice don't have shorter lives. In many cases they are longer.