It can’t be that life is so senseless and horrible. But if it really has been so horrible and senseless, why must I die and die in agony? There is something wrong!
There is shadow under this red rock // (Come in under the shadow of this red rock) // And I will show you something different from either // Your shadow at morning striding behind you // Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you // I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?—On death
One mile farther and I come to a second grave beside the road, nameless like the other, marked only with the dull blue-black stones of the badlands. I do not pause this time. The more often you stop the more difficult it is to continue. Stop too long and they cover you with rocks.
But, who is Death? A figure that harrows and wastes wherever and however it pleases. This is also a possible description of the Countess Bathory. Never did anyone wish so hard not to grow old; I mean, to die. That is why, perhaps, she acted and played the role of Death. Because, how can Death possibly die?
Death is never swift… No matter how those left behind would like to comfort themselves with the thought. -Before Ever After
Something has spoken to me in the night…and told me that I shall die, I know not where. Saying: [Death is] to lose the earth you know for greater knowing; to lose the life you have, for greater life; to leave the friends you loved, for greater loving; to find a land more kind than home, more large than earth.
He said, Were he only like his sister—what a difference that would make! For there never was such a sweet and gentle lady! I hear her footsteps, as she goes about the world. I hear the swish-swish-swish of her silken gown and the jingle-jangle of the silver chain about her neck. Her smile is full of comfort and her eyes are kind and happy! How I long to see her! Who, sir? asked Paramore, puzzled. Why, his sister, John. His sister.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the graveGently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
The thin line between life and death is still under construction.
Depression isn’t a war you win. It’s a battle you fight every day. You never stop, never get to rest. It’s one bloody fray after another.
The closer we come to the negative, to death, the more we blossom.
Eventually, however, the denial turned into emptiness and my childhood ended.
Around, around the sun we go:The moon goes round the earth.We do not die of death:We die of vertigo.
If you treat every situation as a life and death matter, you’ll die a lot of times.
There is uncertainty in hope, but even with its tenuous nature, it summons our strength and pulls us through fear and grief— and even death.
I find myself thinking about my ongoing existence as a human being and the path that lies ahead of me. Though of course these thoughts lead to but one place – death.
When you tire of living, change itself seems evil, does it not? for then any change at all disturbs the deathlike peace of the life-weary.
I almost always start with setting! I have to know the world before I know how to populate it. I have a tendency to play with doors – between life and death, human and monster, mundane and magic – and with ‘ADSOM,’ I knew I wanted to play with the physical doors between worlds.
My dear,Find what you love and let it kill you.Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness.Let it kill you and let it devour your remains.For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.~ Falsely yours
Being alone can be good. It’s easy to find peace alone. But sometimes, being alone is a king of death.
The thing about dead people… The thing is you sound like a bastard if you don’t romanticize them, but the truth is… complicated, I guess.
Failures plagued me. Things I had omitted or ignored, neglected. What I should have given and hadn’t. I felt the biting pang of every unfulfillment.
One forgets the dead quite quickly; one doesn’t wonder about the dead-what is he doing now, who is he with?
This is where the evening splits in half, Henry, love or death. Grab an end, pull hard, and make a wish.
But often life asks much of you, and you either honor life by answering with all your heart, or you cower your way into your grave.
We’re organisms; we’re conceived, we’re born, we live, we die, and we decay. But as we decay we feed the world of the living: plants and bugs and bacteria.
We do not play on Graves—Because there isn’t Room—Besides—it isn’t even—it slantsAnd People come—And put a Flower on it—And hang their faces so—We’re fearing that their Hearts will drop—And crush our pretty play—And so we move as farAs Enemies—away—Just looking round to see how farIt is—Occasionally—
She had been given a wonderful gift: life. Sometimes it was cruelly taken away too soon, but it’s what you did with it that counted, not how long it lasted.
And the thing about trying to cheat death is that, in the end, you still lose.
Let me tell you something about dying: it’s not as bad as they says.it’s the coming-back-to-life part that hurts.
As I accepted my death and dissolution into God’s love, the insectoids began feeding on my heart, devouring the feelings of love and surrender. They were interested in emotion. As I was holding on to my last thought – that God is love – they asked, Even here? Even here?
I’ll never be ready. Yet at the same time, you always want to reach the end. You can’t fly to a destination and linger in the air. I want to reach the end of this thing, and I feel terrible about it.
Death doesn’t care about personalities – he’s more interested in meeting quotas.
I invented this wonderful death scene for Javert of going down on my knees and then leaning back like a limbo dancer to make it look as if I was falling off a bridge. I did it eight times a week for nearly a year and I’ve had trouble with my knees ever since – they don’t even allow me to jog these days.
Death doesn’t stop you from loving. It makes the love more important.
Mendacity is a system that we live in, declares Brick. Liquor is one way out an’death’s the other.
No, my dog used to gaze at me,paying me the attention I need,the attention requiredto make a vain person like me understandthat, being a dog, he was wasting time,but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,he’d keep on gazing at mewith a look that reserved for me aloneall his sweet and shaggy life,always near me, never troubling me,and asking nothing.
What separates us from the animals, what separates us from the chaos, is our ability to mourn people we’ve never met.
Mostly it is loss which teaches us about the worth of things.
When I am dying, I should like my life taken out under general anaesthetic, exactly as if it were a diseased appendix.
When darkness falls and eyes stay shutA chain of voices opens up.Let wax not wane give breath to death.p.s. Shhh -Yvonne Woon(Dead Beautiful)
WHEN SOMEBODY GOES AWAY THERE’S THINGS YOU WANT TO TELL THEM. WHEN SOMEBODY DIES MAYBE THAT’S THE WORST THING. YOU WANT TO TELL THEM THINGS THAT HAPPEN AFTER.
Becoming eighty is a matter of life or death. I chose life. It is a much better position to be in, and it’s easier on your back.
Visitors offering their condolences, thinking to comfort me, said Life goes on. What nonsense, I thought, of course it doesn’t. It’s death that goes on; Ian is dead now and will be dead tomorrow and next year and forever. There’s no end to that. But perhaps there will be an end to the sorrow of it.
He had the face of one who walks in his sleep, and for a wild moment the idea came to me that perhaps he was not normal, not altogether sane. There were people who had trances, I had surely heard of them, and they followed strange laws of which we could know nothing, they obeyed the tangled orders of their own sub-conscious minds. Perhaps he was one of them, and here we were within six feet of death.
Before I go, he said, and paused — I may kiss her?It was remembered afterwards that when he bent down and touched her face with his lips, he murmured some words. The child, who was nearest to him, told them afterwards, and told her grandchildren when she was a handsome old lady, that she heard him say, A life you love.
All death reminds us that nothing is promised, only that life was worth it.
When people get a chance to come close to death without having it touch them personally, they never miss the opportunity.
Music, When Soft Voices DieMusic, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap’d for the belovèd’s bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
Ich werde stehen und warten.Ich werde müde werden.Ich werde nicht einschlafen.Ich werde sterben.
From a purely physical standpoint she didn’t have a chance, but her attitude was that death was better than capitulation.
What I have learned lately is that people deal with death in all sorts of ways. Some of us fight against it, doing everything we can to make it not true. Some of us lose our selves to grief. Some of us lose ourselves to anger.
I don’t think that science and the paranormal have to be at war; in fact, it’s crucial that they work together. It seems naïve to believe that the world is exactly as it seems.
Life is better than death, I believe, if only because it is less boring, and because it has fresh peaches in it.
Our essence is change. We are movement. Being out of balance is life. Perfect balance. Stasis. That is death. Life yearns for perfection. Death is perfection.
A human being is still more likely to die of a bee sting, snake bite or, Lord knows, automobile accident than by shark attack. We do not execute the perpretrators of death by car. We should not butcher an animal for an inadvertent homicide.
I had traded the fight against love for the fight against loneliness, the fight against life for the fight against death.
At the time of his death, John Kennedy had a national security establishment that was a writhing ball of snakes.