For as much as I hate the cemetery, I’ve been grateful it’s here, too. I miss my wife. It’s easier to miss her at a cemetery, where she’s never been anything but dead, than to miss her in all the places where she was alive.
This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and melt into the sun?
I wish the night would end,I wish the day’d begin,I wish it would rain or snow,or the wind would blow,or the grass would grow,I wish I had yesterday,I wish there were games to play…
But really, anybody could die any day, whether you were ready or not. It could be your pet fish or your sister or you. Nothing is the same forever. Maybe all the people on Earth are God’s little pet fish. God lives such a long time that people’s lives probably seem really short to him. He watches them swim for a little while, and then they stop swimming.
Life is both sad and solemn. We are led into a wonderful world, we meet one another here, greet each other – and wander together for a brief moment. Then we lose each other and disappear as suddenly and unreasonably as we arrived.
If it is true that by death we once more become what we were before being, would it not have been better to abide by that pure possibility, not to stir from it? What use was this detour, when we might have remained forever in an unrealized plenitude?
All is as if the world did cease to exist. The city’s monuments go unseen, its past unheard, and its culture slowly fading in the dismal sea.
But if you have to go, then go. Go if it hurts. Go if it’s time. Just go knowing you were loved, that I will never forget you, that you will live in everything Connor and I do. Go knowing I love you purely, Harry, that you were an amazing father. Go knowing I told you all my secrets. Because you were my best friend.
I’ll have that someday, thought Peter. Someone who’ll kiss me good-bye at the door. Or maybe just someone to put a blindfold over my head before they shoot me. Depending on how things turn out.
Agatha looked into the wolf’s eyes. I don’t want to die,for the first time, his sneer softened.I didn’t either.
People were excited by violence. What, after all, was the sexual act but a voluntarily endured assault, a momentary death?
I’ve diced with death the most cycling around London. Black cabs are far more dangerous than polar bears.
Death and what came after death was no great mystery to Sabriel. She just wished it was.
I look upon death to be as necessary to our constitution as sleep. We shall rise refreshed in the morning.
We rehearse for the big death through the little death of orgasm, through erotic living. Death as transfiguration
In spite of my suffering, at the thought that I was sure to end up by killing myself, I cried aloud and burst into tears.
I didn’t cry when they buried my father – I wouldn’t let myself. I didn’t cry when they buried my sister. On Thursday night, with my family asleep upstairs, my eyes filled as Agassi and Marcos Baghdatis played out the fifth set of their moving second-round match.
You will think me cruel, very selfish, but love is always selfish; the more ardent the more selfish. How jealous I am you cannot know. You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me, and still come with me, and hating me through death and after. There is no such word as indifference in my apathetic nature.
Look at the stupid, poor people. Look at the stupid, poor, burned-out people. Look at the stupid, poor, burned-out people, look at their dead baby. It’s death porn for the masses.
And here face down beneath the sunAnd here upon earth’s noonward heightTo feel the always coming onThe always rising of the night
The field of the soul must be watered by the rain with tears of love; otherwise it will become a desert.
I’ve told my children that when I die, to release balloons in the sky to celebrate that I graduated. For me, death is a graduation.
If I Must GoIf I must go to heaven’s endClimbing the ages like a stair,Be near me and forever bendWith the same eyes above me there;Time will fly past us like leaves flying,We shall not heed, for we shall beBeyond living, beyond dying,Knowing and known unchangeably.
I’m an atheist, I always thought, ‘This is it.’ If there is going to be a heaven, it should be on earth. I feel much happier than most people. I’m fairly stoic about death, but I’m not keen on dying if it’s going to be long and protracted. I don’t have dark nights of the soul, except occasionally. I’m such a little busy bee.
Drake’s my little brother; I love him to death, and he’s family-oriented.
Keep a clear eye toward life’s end. Do not forget your purpose and destiny as God’s creature. What you are in his sight is what you are and nothing more. Remember that when you leave this earth, you can take nothing that you have received…but only what you have given; a full heart enriched by honest service, love, sacrifice, and courage.
I do not see how a people that can find in its conscience any excuse whatever for slowly burning to death a human being, or for tolerating such an act, can be entrusted with the salvation of a race.
Death is part of who we are. It guidesus. It shapes us. It drives us to madness. Can you still be human if you have no mortal end
I was not encouraged to follow the career of a writer because my parents thought that I was going to starve to death. They thought nobody can make a living from being a writer in Brazil. They were not wrong.
Destiny, if I could sit across the porch from God, I’d thank Him for Lending me you…..
We see a hearse; we think sorrow. We see a grave; we think despair. We hear of a death; we think of a loss. Not so in heaven. When heaven sees a breathless body, it sees the vacated cocoon & the liberated butterfly.
All Bette’s stories have happy endings. That’s because she knows where to stop. She’s realized the real problem with stories—if you keep them going long enough, they always end in death.
I know that it’s easier to look at death than it is to look at pain, because while death is irrevocable, and the grief will lessen in time, pain is too often merely relentless and irreversible.
The long game was ended, the Snitch had been caught, it was time to leave the air…
How unhappy does one have to be before living seems worse than dying?
How could you go about choosing something that would hold the half of your heart you had to bury?
I’m terrified of the thought of time passing (or whatever is meant by that phrase) whether I ‘do’ anything or not. In a way I may believe, deep down, that doing nothing acts as a brake on ‘time’s – it doesn’t of course. It merely adds the torment of having done nothing, when the time comes when it really doesn’t matter if you’ve done anything or not.
Susan’s gotta poker, you know, it said, as if anxious to be helpful. WELL, WELL. INDEED. MY GOODNESS ME.I fort-thought all of you knew that now. Larst-last week she picked up a bogey by its nose.Death tried to imagine this. He felt sure he’d heard the sentence wrong, but it didn’t sound a whole lot better however he rearranged the words.
I like to imagine that, on the day after my last, my library and I will crumble together, so that even when I am no more I’ll still be with my books.
The idea that all souls are mortal is the only notion surely terminating love and all its forms.
That’s the kind of death that frightens me. The shadow of death slowly, slowly eats away at the region of life, and before you know it everything’s dark and you can’t see, and the people around you think of you as more dead than alive.
How often the priest had heard the same confession–Man was so limited: he hadn’t even the ingenuity to invent a new vice: the animals knew as much. It was for this world that Christ had died: the more evil you saw and heard about you, the greater the glory lay around the death; it was too easy to die for what was good or beautiful, for home or children or civilization–it needed a God to die for the half-hearted and the corrupt.
His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do – the best ones. The ones who rise up and say I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come. Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places.
Sometimes we feel lonely,Like another brickAnother wallLike no one needs you at all.Life isn’t supposed to be like that,Just think for a while;You’re the brick the wall needs,You’re a masterpiece.Open your eyes,And you’ll seeAll the love around you;It was all the time beside you,You were too blind to realizeDon´t you?
Death is the end of the fear of death. […] To avoid it we must not stop fearing it and so life is fear. Death is time because time allows us to move toward death which we fear at all times when alive. We move around and that is fear. Movement through space requires time. Without death there is no movement through space and no life and no fear. To be aware of death is to be alive is to fear is to move around in space and time toward death.
From the time we’re born until we die, we’re kept busy with artificial stuff that isn’t important.
The healing power of even the most microscopic exchange with someone who knows in a flash precisely what you’re talking about because she experienced that thing too cannot be overestimated.
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.