#death

Sometimes, the Lord just takes blessed people because they've filled their purpose early. Everyone plays their own song. They sing their story to the world and leave behind a melody of memories. Sometimes... their song is cut short and ends too early. But that doesn't mean their music was any less sweet or that they left any less of an impression. ↗

— Linda Kage

#death

I never understood why when you died, you didn't just vanish, everything should just keep going on the way it was only you just wouldn't be there. I always thought I'd like my own tombstone to be blank. No epitaph, and no name. Well, actually, I'd like it to say 'figment'. ↗

— Andy Warhol

#epitaph #grave #heaven #hell #life

I’d never seen anything like it. First a trial, then a few murders, then dancing. Life goes on. Or, in this case, death continues. ↗

— Charlaine Harris

#life #true-blood #vamps #death

And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How could I seek the empty world again? ↗

— Emily Brontë

#poetry #death

Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time. ↗

— Zora Neale Hurston

#death

In the end we're all just chalk lines on the concrete Drawn only to be washed away For the time that I've been given I am what I am ↗

— Five Finger Death Punch

#five-finger-death-punch #music #death

And I am someone who does not let inconsequential boys and near-death experiences stop her. ↗

— Tris Prior

#death

Those who say they would rather fight to the death than be raped are fools. I would rather be raped a thousand times. You do what you have to. ↗

— Alice Sebold

#death

one pain is cured by another. catch some new infection in your eye and the poison of the old one would die. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#eye #infection #pain #romeo-and-juliet #death

...the story of the young woman whose death I witnessed in a concentration camp. It is a simple story. There is little to tell and it may sound as if I had invented it; but to me it seems like a poem. This young woman knew that she would die in the next few days. But when I talked to her she was cheerful in spite of this knowledge. "I am grateful that fate has hit me so hard," she told me. "In my former life I was spoiled and did not take spiritual accomplishments seriously." Pointing through the window of the hut, she said, "This tree here is the only friend I have in my loneliness." Through that window she could see just one branch of a chestnut tree, and on the branch were two blossoms. "I often talk to this tree," she said to me. I was startled and didn't quite know how to take her words. Was she delirious? Did she have occasional hallucinations? Anxiously I asked her if the tree replied. "Yes." What did it say to her? She answered, "It said to me, 'I am here-I am here-I am life, eternal life. ↗

— Viktor E. Frankl

#fate #friendship #illness #life #loneliness