1 From the death of Count Bezukhov he did not let go his hold of the lad.
2 So remember, these are my memoirs; hand them to the Emperor after my death.
3 "Yes, he has a right to speak so calmly of those men's death," thought Bolkonski.
4 The latter spared him, and this magnanimity Bonaparte subsequently repaid by death.
5 The news of Count Bezukhov's death reached us before your letter and my father was much affected by it.
6 I am very glad you have brought good news, though Schmidt's death is a heavy price to pay for the victory.
7 On waking in the morning she told the Rostovs and all her acquaintances the details of Count Bezukhov's death.
8 His head was burning, he felt himself bleeding to death, and he saw above him the remote, lofty, and everlasting sky.
9 "Move on a hundred yards and we are certainly saved, remain here another two minutes and it is certain death," thought each one.
10 And the fear of death and of the stretchers, and love of the sun and of life, all merged into one feeling of sickening agitation.
11 One step beyond that boundary line which resembles the line dividing the living from the dead lies uncertainty, suffering, and death.
12 This head, with its remarkably broad brow and cheekbones, its handsome, sensual mouth, and its cold, majestic expression, was not disfigured by the approach of death.
13 No, friend," said a pleasant and, as it seemed to Prince Andrew, a familiar voice, "what I say is that if it were possible to know what is beyond death, none of us would be afraid of it.
14 Everything seemed so futile and insignificant in comparison with the stern and solemn train of thought that weakness from loss of blood, suffering, and the nearness of death aroused in him.
15 You fear and yet long to cross that line, and know that sooner or later it must be crossed and you will have to find out what is there, just as you will inevitably have to learn what lies the other side of death.
16 And suddenly, at this thought of death, a whole series of most distant, most intimate, memories rose in his imagination: he remembered his last parting from his father and his wife; he remembered the days when he first loved her.
17 Looking into Napoleon's eyes Prince Andrew thought of the insignificance of greatness, the unimportance of life which no one could understand, and the still greater unimportance of death, the meaning of which no one alive could understand or explain.
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