#de

Sit back and get some sleep. Oh great. So if we have an accident and I'm asleep my resistance toward fighting death will be down and I'll wake up in a morgue. ↗

— Melina Marchetta

#michael #death

One person's weed is another person's wildflower. ↗

— Susan Wittig Albert

#death

Bismilahir-rahmanir-rahim! I call to witness the ink, the quill, and the script, which flows from the quill; I call to witness the faltering shadows of the sinking evening, the night and all she enlivens; I call to witness the moon when she waxes, and the sunrise when it dawns. I call to witness the Resurrection Day and the soul that accuses itself; I call to witness time, the beginning and end of all things - to witness that every man always suffers loss. ↗

— Meša Selimović

#dervis-i-smrt #mesa-selimovic #death

The diseased, anyway, are more interesting than the healthy. The words of the diseased, even those who can manage only a murmur, carry more weight than those of the healthy. Then, too, all healthy people will in the future know disease. That sense of time, ah, the diseased man’s sense of time, what treasure hidden in a desert cave. Then, too the diseased truly bite, whereas the healthy pretend to bite but really only snap at the air. Then, too, then, too, then, too. ↗

— Roberto Bolaño

#disease #death

...a third [of three] had died in his bunk of natural causes--for a dagger in the heart quite naturally ends one's life. ↗

— R.A. Salvatore

#deceit #drow #death

Death cannot be struggled against, brother. It ever arrives, defiant of every hiding place, of every frantic attempt to escape. Death is every mortal's shadow, his true shadow, and time is its servant, spinning that shadow slowly round, until what stretched before one now stretched before him. ↗

— Steven Erikson

#death

ALL THINGS THAT ARE, ARE OURS. BUT WE MUST CARE. FOR IF WE DO NOT CARE, WE DO NOT EXIST. IF WE DO NOT EXIST, THEN THERE IS NOTHING BUT BLIND OBLIVION. AND EVEN OBLIVION MUST END SOMEDAY. LORD, WILL YOU GRANT ME JUST A LITTLE TIME? FOR THE PROPER BALANCE OF THINGS. TO RETURN WHAT WAS GIVEN. FOR THE SAKE OF PRISONERS AND THE FLIGHT OF BIRDS. Death took a step backwards. It was impossible to read expression in Azrael's features. Death glanced sideways at the servants. LORD, WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT FOR THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN? ↗

— Terry Pratchett

#death

Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives, Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain, But never will be sung to us again, Is they remembrance. Now the hour of rest Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling: it is best. ↗

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

#poetry #death

I can handle it. But it stinks, if you ask me, really stinks, that you get to go out somewhere drinking beer while I'm stuck at Baby Central. Just because you have a penis." "We'll think fondly of you over beer, me and my penis." She ate a little more, then smiled slowly. "You've still got to be in the birthing room when she pushes it out." "Shut up, Eve." "Your penis won't save you then, Pal. ↗

— J.D. Robb

#eve-dallas #penis #roarke #death

Death's gruesome face taunts: soulless eyes, crimson grimace. I really hate clowns. ↗

— Katherine Applegate

#horror #death