No one owns life, but anyone who can pick up a frying pan owns death.
They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.
Can I just say that dying sucks? All that bullshit about seeing the light and having this inner peace, blah, blah, blah. It’s crap.
I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is no death the way we understood it. The body dies, but not the soul.
I’d never seen anything like it. First a trial, then a few murders, then dancing. Life goes on. Or, in this case, death continues.
Of all the things I’ve ever done, perhaps none was more difficult than turning away from my beautiful girl and walking away, leaving her there, never to look back. But my friend Tom, my ever-faithful good friend Tom said, pointing down the hall away from Cec’s room, ‘Life’s that way. Let’s go home.’And so we did.
He told himself a story. Not at first. At first, there wasn’t time for thoughts that came in the shape of words. His head was blessedly empty of stories then. War was coming. It was upon him. Arin had been born in the year of the god of death, and he was finally glad of it. He surrendered himself to his god, who smiled and came close. Stories will get you killed, he murmured in Arin’s ear. Now, you just listen. Listen to me.
You can’t go back, Ever. You can’t change the past. It just is. . . . This is our destiny. Not yours.
I think ‘Historian’ is ultimately a positive record, but I was a little bit worried about taking people into a dark world. I tried to do it with as much care as possible, but it’s not easy to ask people to think about death or loss or confusion.
He is fifteen and ten and five. He is an instant. He is flying back to her. He is hers again. She feels the weight of him in her chest as he comes into her arms. He is her son, her beloved child, and she takes him back.
Vanye: You’re asking me to kill you.Luthiel: I’m asking you to save her.
It was a great mistake, my being born a man, I would have been much more successful as a seagull or a fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must be a little in love with death!
Imagine being sentient but not alive. Seeing and even knowing, but not alive. Just looking out. Recognizing but not being alive. A person can die and still go on. Sometimes what looks out at you from a person’s eyes maybe died back in childhood.
Shine in any season of your life!Head on with confidence in your life’s pilgrim!In deep faith, countless hope and unconditional love blessed by the Almighty.Newness of each rising day, bringing forth colourful sunsets.Enkindle your soul once more with courage, joy and love,flowing in a river of awakening & sharing:with a heart who once knew that hurt, pain, loss…means to SHINE!
When his brain died, all of the memoriesheld in his gray matter, along with all of the knowledge he had acquired, would simply evaporatein a flood of chemical reactions.
Just when normal life felt almost possible – when the world held some kind of order, meaning, even loveliness (the prismatic spray of light through an icicle; the stillness of a sunrise), some small thing would go awry and the veil of optimism was torn away, the barren world revealed. They learned, somehow, to wait those times out. There was no cure, no answer, no reparation.
What he meant, of course, was that there would always be wars, that they were as easy to stop as glaciers. I believe that, too.And even if wars didn’t keep coming like glaciers, there would still be plain old death.
There is no such thing as inner peace. There is only nervousness and death.
Death is a release from the impressions of the senses, and from desires that make us their puppets, and from the vagaries of the mind, and from the hard service of the flesh.
Nobody owns life, but anyone who can pick up a frying pan owns death.
Life seemed to him to be a narrow cage, and her iron bars were many and dense, and there was only one way out.
If Christ taught us anything it is this — not to let our fear of death keep us from doing the good thing.
I just took [my cancer diagnosis] as bad luck, basically. It did strike me almost immediately, my atheist sort of thing kicked in and I thought ha, if I was a God-botherer, I’d be thinking, why me God? What have I done to deserve this? and I thought at least I’m free of that, at least I can simply treat it as bad luck and get on with it.
The afternoon my parents died, I was out shoplifting with Irene Klauson.
Take me as godfather. The man asked, Who art thou? I am Death, and I make all equal. Then said the man, Thou art the right one, thou takest the rich as well as the poor, without distinction; thou shalt be godfather. Death answered, I will make thy child rich and famous, for he who has me for a friend can lack nothing.
Suffering, failure, loneliness, sorrow, discouragement, and death will be part of your journey, but the Kingdom of God will conquer all these horrors. No evil can resist grace forever.
I am not made for politics because I am incapable of wanting or accepting the death of the adversary.
It’s harder to pick and choose when you’re dead. It’s like a photograph, you know. It doesn’t matter as much.
We think of mortality so little these days…I thought of the stern Victorian determination to keep death in mind, the uncompromising tombstones.Remember, pilgrim, as you pass by,As you are now so once was I:As I am so will you be…
We are all dying one by one. We all smell of mortality, and we can’t wash it off.
He had no conscious knowledge of death, but like every animal of the Wild, he possessed the instinct of death. To him it stood as the greatest of hurts. It was the very essence of the unknown; it was the sum of the terrors of the unknown, the one culminating and unthinkable catastrophe that could happen to him, about which he knew nothing and about which he feared everything.
O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes;Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching Earth;Lie close around her; leave no room for mirthWith its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs.She hath no questions, she hath no replies.
When the body escaped mutilation, seldom did the heart go to the grave unscarred.
Everyone thought that things were getting back to normal. They had no idea that normal didn’t exist for me any more. Normal had been smashed on the rocks beneath the bridge.
I never wanted to go away, and the hard part now is the leaving you all. I’m not afraid, but it seems as if I should be homesick for you even in heaven.
It is one of the sternest judgments confronting a human being after death that insofar as he is himself evil, he can see only what resembles himself because he can reproduce in his own being only the physiognomy of other evil people.
There is no king that won’t face a mortal death the same as a slave. So kings and slaves alike should make the most of life and love everyone as selflessly as possible, because tomorrow is another day, and kings can fall, becoming slaves, and slaves can be promoted to become kings.
Lieb Liebchen, leg ‘s Händchen aufs Herze mein; -Ach, hörst du, wie’s pochet im Kämmerlein,Da hauset ein Zimmermann schlimm und arg,Der zimmert mir einen Totensarg.Es hämmert und klopfet bei Tag und bei Nacht;Es hat mich schon längst um den Schlaf gebracht.Ach! sputet Euch, Meister Zimmermann,Damit ich balde schlafen kann.
To say the Internet is the death of books and movies is like saying someone invented a new, more efficient kind of cup and it heralds the death of coffee – a new improved form of carrying something, which is essentially what the Internet is, should be helpful to our business.
Death had to take her little by little, bit by bit, dragging her along to the bitter end of the miserable existence she’d made for herself. They never even knew what she did die of. Some spoke of a chill. But the truth was that she died from poverty, from the filth and the weariness of her wretched life.
For two days I went about my business. I travelled the globe as always, handing souls to the conveyor belt of eternity.
They say, ‘The coward dies many times’; so does the beloved. Didn’t the eagle find a fresh liver to tear in Prometheus every time it dined?
It’s what happens when you shoot someone,” Wayne pointed out. “At least, usually someone has the good sense to get dead when you go to all the trouble to shoot them.
You must not resist life when it becomes inconvenient to live. You cannot outrun fear. You should not ignore pain. You will not outlive death.
All this time, I’d assumed that being a doctor meant performing miracles. Fixing bodies. Saving lives. I had hardly considered the flip side of that coin: that it also meant looking a patient’s family in the eye and telling them to say their last goodbyes. That it meant staring down the permanence of death over and over again, until it stopped feeling like something to be prevented at all costs and instead became something to be occasionally embraced.
And Death spoke to them —’”“Sorry,” interjected Harry, “but Death spoke to them?”“It’s a fairy tale, Harry!”“Right, sorry. Go on.
Then there’s the kind of zombie I’ve become now: the one who has lost everything—his brain, his heart, his light, his direction. He wanders the world, bumping into this, tripping over that, but keeps going and going. That is life after death.
Yes, he is here in thisopen field, in sunlight, amongthe few young trees set outto modify the bare facts–he’s here, but onlybecause we are here.When we go, he goes with usto be your hands that neverdo violence, your eyesthat wonder, your livesthat daily praise lifeby living it, by laughter.He is never alone here,never cold in the field of graves.
It’s not life or death it’s a game and at the end of the game there is going to be a winner and a loser.
Then all the sharp intricate peaks on the monitor smoothed out to clean straight lines and my father made a terrible growling sound, but even without any of that I would have known, because the air around us had split open and whirled and re-formed itself and there was one less person in the room.
Only those few who are able to surpass their fear of death completely can fully experience the highest forms of life; not the mundane life of the mortal, but the godly life of the resurrected.
Peoples do not defy repression and death, nor do they remain for nights on end protesting energetically, just because of merely formal matters.
A premature death does not only rob one of the countless instances where one would have experienced pleasure, it also saves one from the innumerable instances where one would have experienced pain.
Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its students.[Letter, November 1856]
Every time I go to sleep, I know I may never wake up. How could anyone expect to? You drop your tiny, helpless mind into a bottomless well, crossing your fingers and hoping when you pull it out on its flimsy fishing wire it hasn’t been gnawed to bones by nameless beasts below.
Yes, Max, you are going to die. Just like everybody else.Thank you, Confucious.
I’m wishing he could see that music lives. Forever. That it’s stronger than death. Stronger than time. And that its strength holds you together when nothing else can.
Thousands of those men and boys died here, and I have recently learned that their inhuman treatment was the intended policy of Himmler. He called his plan Death by Exhaustion, and he implemented it. Work them hard, don’t waste valuable foodstuffs on them, and let them die. They could, and would, always be replaced by new slave workers from Europe’s Occupied countries.
Full fathom five thy father lies;Of his bones are coral made;Those are pearls that were his eyes:Nothing of him that doth fade,But doth suffer a sea-changeInto something rich and strange.Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong Hark! now I hear them,—Ding-dong, bell.
After you passed away, the people who miss you all became connected.
Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it, a jealous, possessive love that grabs at what it can get.
That can happen when people die, the argument with them drops away and people so flawed while they were drawing breath that at times they were all but unbearable now assert themselves in the most appealing way, and what was least to your liking the day before yesterday becomes in the limousine behind the hearse a cause not only for sympathetic amusement but for admiration.