Death is a sniper. It strikes people you love, people you like

“Death is a sniper. It strikes people you love, people you like, people you know — it’s everywhere. You could be next. But then you turn out not to be. But then again, you could be.” — so wrote Nora Ephron, the brilliant storyteller who mastered both wit and sorrow, laughter and lament. In these words, we hear her voice — honest, sharp, unflinching — confronting the one enemy that even humor cannot charm: death. Yet even as she speaks of mortality with chilling precision, there is in her tone not despair, but clarity — the wisdom of one who has seen life’s fragility and still chooses to live it fully.

The origin of this quote lies in the later years of Ephron’s life, when she had already known loss intimately and felt her own mortality pressing near. A master observer of human nature, she likened death not to a storm or a sickness, but to a sniper — silent, invisible, and merciless. It is a powerful image: the sniper waits, hidden, choosing its victims at random. It does not discriminate between the good and the wicked, the young and the old. One day it strikes near, taking someone dear; the next day, it passes you by. In this pattern of loss and reprieve, Ephron captures the unsettling rhythm of existence — that we live under constant uncertainty, suspended between fear and fortune.

In calling death a sniper, she strips away illusion and sentiment. She tells the truth that most refuse to speak: death is not fair, nor predictable. It comes suddenly, without ceremony, leaving those who survive in disbelief — half-grateful, half-guilty, wondering why they remain when others are gone. Yet Ephron’s insight does not end in terror. Beneath her realism lies a subtle invitation: since death’s aim cannot be escaped, one must learn to live beneath its gaze. Life, she suggests, is not about avoiding the sniper’s bullet, but about learning to cherish each breath before it finds us.

The ancients, too, understood this wisdom. The Stoics spoke often of memento mori — “remember you must die” — not as a curse, but as a guide to right living. They taught that awareness of death brings urgency to life, stripping away trivial concerns and awakening gratitude. Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher, wrote that death stands beside us always, and that this should make us gentler, more courageous, more truthful. Nora Ephron’s metaphor, though modern in its imagery, carries this same ancient heartbeat: to live is to walk through a battlefield, but the wise do so with laughter and love, not fear.

Consider the story of Anne Frank, whose young life unfolded under the shadow of war. Death surrounded her — it claimed her friends, her neighbors, even the world she knew — yet she continued to write with hope and wonder. Her diary, born from fear, became a testament of light. In her, as in Ephron’s words, we see the same truth: that even when death is everywhere, life can still sing. The sniper may take what it will, but it cannot silence the human spirit that dares to find meaning in the face of loss.

Ephron’s words also reveal something tender about the human condition — the strange disbelief that follows survival. “You could be next,” she says, “but then you turn out not to be.” This is the mystery of being alive after others have fallen. It humbles us. It reminds us that life is borrowed, not earned, and that every reprieve is a gift. But she adds, “Then again, you could be,” and with this, she restores the balance — a reminder that no one escapes forever. The pendulum swings, and we must learn to dance between its arcs, grateful yet unafraid.

So, my child, let this be the lesson: do not fear the sniper, for its presence is what gives meaning to your march. Let the awareness of death awaken you, not paralyze you. When someone you love is struck, mourn deeply, but also live fiercely — for this is how you honor them. Do not waste your reprieve in pettiness or regret; fill it with laughter, creation, and compassion. Every day that you are spared is not an accident, but an invitation to be fully alive.

For as Nora Ephron teaches us, death walks beside us all — unseen, unpredictable, yet inevitable. But this truth need not fill us with dread; it can fill us with purpose. When you wake, let gratitude be your first thought. When you love, let it be without hesitation. And when the sniper’s bullet finally finds you — as it must find us all — let it find you unafraid, still smiling at the beauty of life, still astonished that you were ever here at all.