#de

Romans 6:23 For the wages of sin is death but the gifrt of God is eternal life through Jesus Chrsit our Lord. ↗

— Apostle Paul

#larry #death

In my carpet bag are the mushrooms that I gathered in the woods. With two fingers I pick up a piece and look at it. Then I take a bite and wait for my body to react. Now I'm in a better mood. In a short time I'll be dead. Or alive. I'm not always sure that there's any difference. ↗

— Peter H. Fogtdal

#life #mushrooms #poison #death

One death is a tragedy; one million is a statistic."- Joseph Stalin ↗

— Joseph Stalin

#death

eheu, nos miseros, quam totus humuncio nil est. sic erimus cuncti, postquam nos auferet Orcus. ergo vivamus, dum licet esse bene. Alas, us miserable creatures, all that man is is nothing. In this way we will all be, when death carries us. Therefore, we must live, while we are able to be well. ↗

— Patronius

#patronius #trimalchio #death

There comes a stage at which a man would rather die cleanly by a bullet than by the unknown terror of the phantom in the forest. ↗

— Tahir Shah

#fear #forest #jungle #phantom #terror

The face of the dead man was concealed, of course, our customs not being those of the south, where corpses are carried to the grave in open coffins, that they might – one last time before slipping into the pit – be warmed by the light of the sun. ↗

— Jan Neruda

#coffin #corpse #death #funeral #death

So che, rifiutando a mia volta di accettare un compromesso con i fondamentalisti e con i signori della guerra, o di annacquare le mie denunce nei loro confronti, protrò finire con l'essere annoverata anch'io nel lungo elenco degli afghani che sono morti per la libertà del loro paese. Ma non si può venire a patti con la verità. E non ho paure di una morte prematura, se la mia morte favorirà la cause della giustizia. ↗

— Malalai Joya

#justice #rebellion #sacrifice #death

Now, you might think that because there are more poets than ever, there might be more opportunities for poets than ever. And you’d be correct. If your fondest wish is to become the next totally obscure minor poet on the block, well, you’re probably already successful at that. This literary landscape has proven itself infinitely capable of absorbing countless interchangeable artists, all doing roughly the same thing in relative anonymity: just happily plucking away until death at the grindstone, making no great cultural headway, bouncing poems off their friends and an audience of about 40 people. A totally fine little life for an artist, to be sure. No grand expectations from the world to sit up and listen. One can live out one’s days quite satisfied to create something enjoyed by a genial cult. But that’s not why any of us are here tonight. We’re here to conquer American Poetry and suck it dry of all glory and juice. ↗

— Jim Behrle

#death

I know what death smells like. Death smells like gasoline, singed hair and fingernails. It smells like cooking meat. My meat. ↗

— Rasmenia Massoud

#death #meat #death

If he survived Roaming Rock, he kept telling himself, death would have lost its sting. ↗

— Walter Moers

#survive #death