#d

Murtagh was right about women. Sassenach, I risked my life for ye, committing theft, arson, assault, and murder into the bargain. In return for which ye call me names, insult my manhood, kick me in the ballocks and claw my face. Then I beat you half to death and tell ye all the most humiliating things have ever happened to me, and ye say ye love me." He laid his head on his knees and laughed some more. Finally he rose and held out a hand to me, wiping his eyes with the other. "You're no verra sensible, Sassenach, but I like ye fine. Let's go. ↗

— Diana Gabaldon

#death

Certainty? In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes. ↗

— Benjamin Franklin

#taxes #death

Dying should come easy: like a freight train you don't hear when your back is turned. ↗

— Charles Bukowski

#death

You had to risk your life to get love. You had to get right to the edge of death to ever be saved. ↗

— Chuck Palahniuk

#death

Do little pink fairies sing and dance in your world, Peabody?" "Sometimes, when it's very quiet and no one else can see. ↗

— J.D. Robb

#death

The bounties of space, of infinite outwardness, were three: empty heroics, low comedy, and pointless death. ↗

— Kurt Vonnegut

#life #philosophy #science #death

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them, and that is eternity. ↗

— Edvard Munch

#eternity #death

All I know is that while I’m asleep, I’m never afraid, and I have no hopes, no struggles, no glories — and bless the man who invented sleep, a cloak over all human thought, food that drives away hunger, water that banishes thirst, fire that heats up cold, chill that moderates passion, and, finally, universal currency with which all things can be bought, weight and balance that brings the shepherd and the king, the fool and the wise, to the same level. There’s only one bad thing about sleep, as far as I’ve ever heard, and that is that it resembles death, since there’s very little difference between a sleeping man and a corpse ↗

— Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

#death

Death is always on the way, but the fact that you don't know when it will arrive seems to take away from the finiteness of life. It's that terrible precision that we hate so much. But because we don't know, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that's so deeply a part of your being that you can't even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless. ↗

— Paul Bowles

#death

In those pamphlets that they give at mental health centers where they list the ten or so symptoms that would indicate a clinical depression, 'suicide threats' or even simple 'talk of suicide' is considered cause for concern. I guess the point is that what's just talk one day may become a real activity the next. So perhaps after years of walking around with these germinal feelings, these raw thoughts, these scattered moments of saying I wish I were dead, eventually I too, sooner or later, would succumb to the death urge. In the meantime, I could withdraw to my room, could hide and sleep as if I were dead. ↗

— Elizabeth Wurtzel

#death