#death

Between each inhale and exhale we die and are reborn. ↗

— Micheal Tsarion wordslessspoken

#death #exhale #inhale #life #death

Living on through loss seems by contrast as bad or worse; it means experiencing environmental deterioration, steady decline in human well-being, and increasing constraint on future human action consciously and slowly while realizing that they are likely to continue for generations after one is gone. ↗

— Frederick Buell

#death #environment #life #well-being #death

Why are the photographs of him as a little boy so incredibly hard to look at? Something is over. Now instead of those shiny moments being things we can share together in delighted memories, I, the survivor, have to bear them alone. So it is with all the memories of him. They all lead into blackness. All I can do is remember him, I cannot experience him. Nothing new can happen between us. ↗

— Nicholas Wolterstorff

#grief #loss-of-child #nicholas-wolterstorff #death

The more one loves, the heavier the meaning of death becomes, and the deeper the sense of loss. ↗

— Otsuichi

#epiphany #insight #loss #love #death

Strange combination, isn't it--gratitude and resentment? But this is the way I think. Actually, I think everybody thinks that way. Even the children of the humans who died long ago, I think they lived their lives holding similar contradictory thoughts about their parents. They were raised to learn about love and death, and they lived out their lives passing from the sunny spots to the shady spots of this world. ↗

— Otsuichi

#contradictions #contradictory #death #epiphany #gratitude

This is my formula for the fall of things: we come to a river we always knew we'd have to cross. It ferries the twilight down through fieldworks of corn and half-blown sunflowers. The only sounds, one lost cicada calling to itself and the piping of a bird that will never have a name. Now tell me there is a pause where we know there should be an end; then tell me you too imagined it this way with our shadows never quite touching the river and the river never quite reaching the sea. ↗

— John Glenday

#hope #life #death

Life happens, whether you're in it or not, but death doesn't give you a choice. ↗

— Anthony Liccione

#choice #death #in-or-out #life #no-choice

K2 is not some malevolent being, lurking there above the Baltoro, waiting to get us. It's just there. It's indifferent. It's an inanimate mountain made of rock, ice, and snow. The "savageness" is what we project onto it, as if we blame the peak for our own misadventures on it. ↗

— Ed Viesturs

#k #death

If there is some divine plan that requires my survival and the deaths of all those children in day care, I respectfully decline to participate. ↗

— Tim Kreider

#religion #death

Where are you taking me?” Andrew demanded, whirling on the Ferryman. His muscles tensed, hands curling in and out of fists. “To my master.” The voice was ghostly, whispers of black ash and death, words cold and detached. He had an idea who that was but asked anyway: “And who is your master?” No answer came. Andrew’s insatiable rage rose up and swallowed his grief like a yawning ocean mouth, the darkest depths surging to the surface to form a mighty tidal wave. He closed the distance and seized the Ferryman’s gaunt wrist. There was no substance, no life beneath the cloak. The Ferryman slowly turned his hooded head, and Andrew found himself looking into the black hole of a self-contained night. The olfactory of decay was a punch in the face. Andrew released the Ferryman’s wrist and hastily stepped back, rocking the boat as he put distance between him and the unnatural wind spilling from the gaping orifice. Andrew shivered, the tiny hairs on his neck saluting. The cloaked head faced forward again, and the wind died away. ↗

— Laura Kreitzer

#fantasy #fiction #key-of-pearl #laura-kreitzer #paranormal-fantasy