#death

It is almost startling to hear this warning of departed time sounding among the tombs, and telling the lapse of the hour, which, like a billow, has rolled us onward towards the grave. ↗

— Washington Irving

#death #grave #hour #ocean #time

Henceforth the cosmos, once a swarm of blazing galaxies, each a swarm of stars, was composed wholly of star-corpses. These dark grains drifted through the dark void, like an infinitely tenuous smoke rising from an extinguished fire. Upon these motes, these gigantic worlds, the ultimate populations had created here and there with their artificial lighting a pale glow, invisible even from the innermost ring of lifeless planets. ↗

— Olaf Stapledon

#heat-death #star #death

Right you guessed the rising morrow And scorned to tread the mire you must: Dust's your wages, son of sorrow, But men may come to worse than dust. Souls undone, undoing others,- Long time since the tale began. You would not live to wrong your brothers: Oh lad, you died as fits a man. ↗

— A.E. Housman

#dust #war #death

The fact of having been born is a bad augury for immortality. ↗

— George Santayana

#death #immortality #death

We figure out what death means when we’re born, practically, and we live our whole lives in some kind of weird denial about it. ↗

— Lauren DeStefano

#life #death

The last words Albus Dumbledore spoke to the pair of us?' Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him. ↗

— J.K. Rowling

#trust #death

He really had been through death, but he had returned because he could not bear the solitude. ↗

— Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

#melquiades #death

Your destiny is shaped by choice, never by chance. Beware the decisions you make, no matter how small, for they will be your salvation...or your death. ↗

— Sherrilyn Kenyon

#invincible #death

The world is simple, I think, in its essence. Life, death, love, hate. Desire, fulfillment. Magic. ↗

— Juliet Marillier

#death

Death, of course, like chastity, admits of no degree; a man is dead or not dead, and a man is just as dead by one means as by another; but it is infinitely more horrible and revolting to see a man shattered and eviscerated, than to see him shot. And one sees such things; and one suffers vicariously, with the inalienable sympathy of man for man. One forgets quickly. The mind is averted as well as the eyes. It reassures itself after that first despairing cry: "It is I!" "No, it is not I. I shall not be like that." And one moves on, leaving the mauled and bloody thing behind: gambling, in fact, on that implicit assurance each one of us has of his own immortality. One forgets, but he will remember again later, if only in his sleep. ↗

— Frederic Manning

#death