#death

For everything in life there is always a beginning and an end. This is the tough part the most difficult thing when you see that it’s coming: The end. ↗

— Seve Ballesteros

#imminent-death #death

why we fear death... life is more scary..... ↗

— Raheel Habib

#death

God did not become flesh and suffer an ignominious death at our hands so that we could have sprawling church campuses, programs, and budgets. ↗

— Michael S. Horton

#death

If we knew what we are, we should do as Sir Arthur Jermyn did; and Arthur Jermyn soaked himself in oil and set first to his clothing one night. ↗

— H.P. Lovecraft

#horror #humanity #suicide #death

The shortest distance between two points is a time line, a schedule, a map of your time, the itinerary for the rest of your life. Nothing shows you the straight line from here to death like a list. ↗

— Chuck Palahniuk

#death

When compared to the fact that he might very well be dead by this time tomorrow, whether he was courageous or not today was pointless, empty. When compared to the fact that he might be dead tomorrow, everything was pointless. It just didn't make any difference. It was pointless to the tree, it was pointless to every man in his outfit, pointless to everybody in the whole world. Who cared? It was not pointless only to him; and when he was dead, when he ceased to exist, it would be pointless to him too. More important: Not only would it be pointless, it would have been pointless all along. This was an obscure and rather difficult point to grasp. Understanding of it kept slipping in and out on the edges of his mind. It flickered, changing its time sense and tenses. At those moments when he understood it, it left him with a very hollow feeling. ↗

— James Jones

#emptiness #pointlessness #understanding #change

Would that death were like this. Would that one would sleep and sleep and sleep forever. ↗

— Anne Rice

#hope #wisdom #death

if we don’t rebel, if we’re not physically in an active rebellion, then it’s spiritual death. ↗

— Chris Hedges

#death

The Trifler Death's the lover that I'd be taking; Wild and fickle and fierce is he. Small's his care if my heart be breaking- Gay young Death would have none of me. Hear them clack of my haste to greet him! No one other my mouth had kissed. I had dressed me in silk to meet him- False young Death would not hold the tryst. Slow's the blood that was quick and stormy, Smooth and cold is the bridal bed; I must wait till he whistles for me- Proud young Death would not turn his head. I must wait till my breast is wilted. I must wait till my back is bowed, I must rock in the corner, jilted- Death went galloping down the road. Gone's my heart with a trifling rover. Fine he was in the game he played- Kissed, and promised, and threw me over, And rode away with a prettier maid. ↗

— Dorothy Parker

#poetry #death

Man," he said, "I'm not afraid of graveyards. The dead are just, you know, people who wanted the same things you and I want." "What do we want?" I asked blurrily. "Aw, man, you know," he said. "We just want, well, the same things these people wanted." "What was that?" He shrugged. "To live, I guess," he said. ↗

— Michael Cunningham

#death