#death

I held out my book. It was precious to me, as were all the things I'd written; even where I despised their inadequacy there was not one I would disown. Each tore its way from my entrails. Each had shortened my life, killed me with its own special little death. ↗

— Tanith Lee

#writing #death

love is undying,of that I feel certain.I mean deep,abiding,cherishing love.The love that gives protection even as you,my guardian angel,gave me protection long after you had gone-and continue to give this very day... A love beyond Death-a love that makes Life alive! ↗

— Ruskin Bond

#day #death #emotions #heart #life

Death and destruction are necessary to the health of the world, and therefore as natural, and lovable, as birth and life. Only priests and born cowards moan and weep over dying. Brave men face it with approving nonchalance. ↗

— Ragnar Redbeard

#noremorse #death

Death anxiety is the mother of all religions, which, in one way or another, attempt to temper the anguish of our finitude. ↗

— Irvin D. Yalom

#death-anxiety #grief #psychology #staring-at-the-sun #death

We are the dead. Our only true life is in the future. We shall take part in it as handfuls of dust and splinters of bone. But how far away that future may be, there is no knowing. ↗

— George Orwell

#death-and-dying #future #death

There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval. ↗

— George Santayana

#cure #death #enjoy #interval #save

Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#poetry #art

End Of Men is a concoction of sex, outsider art, filmmaking and death including an Italian island ↗

— C. B. Murphy

#filmmaking #outsider-art #sex #art

I don't think that science and the paranormal have to be at war; in fact, it's crucial that they work together. It seems naïve to believe that the world is exactly as it seems. ↗

— Chelsie Shakespeare

#desire #dreams #love #meant-to-be #past-lives

Garraty wondered how it would be, to lie in the biggest, dustiest library silence of all, dreaming endless, thoughtless dreams behind your gummed-down eyelids, dressed forever in your Sunday suit. No worries about money, success, fear, joy, pain, sorrow, sex, or love. Absolute zero. No father, mother, girlfriend, lover. The dead are orphans. No company but the silence like a moth's wing. An end to the agony of movement, to the long nightmare of going down the road. The body in peace, stillness, and order. The perfect darkness of death. How would that be? Just how would that be? ↗

— Stephen King

#dying #pain #stress #walk #death