…Despite the mayhem that followed, Bruno found that he was still holding Shmuel’s hand in his own and nothing in the world would have persuaded him to let go.
Wild dreams torment me as I lie. And though a god lives in my heart, though all my power waken at his word, though he can move my every inmost part – yet nothing in the outer world is stirred. thus by existence tortured and oppressed I crave for death, I long for rest.
Generations of men are like the leaves.In winter, winds blow them down to earth,but then, when spring season comes again,the budding wood grows more. And so with men:one generation grows, another dies away.
Ah, how much more soothing(that is to say, if one should get the choice)to be wiped off the earth by hell-bound fiendsthan by neurotics.
It’s not that we have to quit this life one day, but it’s how many things we have to quit all at once: music, laughter, the physics of falling leaves, automobiles, holding hands, the scent of rain, the concept of subway trains… if only one could leave this life slowly!
The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness. Although the two are identical twins, man, as a rule, views the prenatal abyss with more calm than the one he is heading for.
I’m trying to knock the medical profession into accepting its responsibilities, and those responsibilities include assisting their patients with death.
We have nothing that is really our own; we hold everything as a loan.
Ultimately life is disease, death and oblivion. It’s still better than high school.
Death and life are the same thing-like the two sides of my hand, the palm and the back. And still the palm and the back are not the same…They can be neither separated, nor mixed.
Phaedra of Alonso’s death was a never-ending pain that gnawed at his insides. It made him a prisoner in his own cottage.
When people don’t express themselves, they die one piece at a time.
When the first living thing existed, I was there waiting. When the last living thing dies, my job will be finished. I’ll put the chairs on the tables, turn out the lights and lock the universe behind me when I leave.
Death isn’t peaceful; it is just nothing. Everything is gone. No more sunrises, no more hopes, no more fears. Nothing.
Is Death important? No. Everything that happens before Death is what counts.