#h

Before she continued her search she sat in his revolving desk chair, and wept for the passing of time, and the necessary death of the well-loved, wise old man. ↗

— Robertson Davies

#love #time #death

Sam studied his brother. At one time he thought Frankie had a good head on his shoulders. Sure, he had a temper. And he was conceited. But he always used common sense. But now he wasn’t so sure if that were true. He had brought him his lifeless fiancé. Like a dog dragging in a dead rabbit looking for praise. ↗

— Holly Hood

#life #love #love-hurts #rivalry #death

My father was a Catholic, a coal miner in the Big Pit. My mother a Jew. A charwoman, when she could find the work. They didn’t fit in Wales. Nor in the U.K., either. They didn’t fit with each other all that well, for that matter. They fought every day for as long as I can remember and loved each other more than anyone I’ve ever known. At least they did right up till a night when he looked right and not left at a train crossing in Chepstow and ended up half a mile from where he’d started, dead as the Ghost. Looking for a job, he was. Turned out he didn’t need one. ↗

— Patrick Reinken

#fighting #love #wales #death

It was the first time I had ever seen someone die, and it wasn't what I expected...I stood there waiting for something momentous to happen, for someone to say something profound, but there was nothing...I still had the childish notion that since my life was so important, all lives were so important. Since my death would be so cataclysmic, all deaths would be so cataclysmic. ↗

— Michael J. Collins

#death

Nomirt grūti, bet labi cilvēki palīdzēs. ↗

— Vanda Tomaševiča

#death

One thing all the stories agreed on: King Robert was dead. The bells in the seven towers of the Great Sept of Baelor had tolled for a day and a night, the thunder of their grief rolling across the city in a bronze tide. They only rang the bells like that for the death of a king, a tanner's boy told Arya. ↗

— George R.R. Martin

#death

Dreams are the touchstones of our characters. ↗

— Henry David Thoreau

#dreams #touchstones #dreams

I pretended to be a Cheyenne guide. I pretended to be a prairie woman. I pretended Henry was my old-timey husband taking me to our new homestead. I leaned down and patted Trouble’s neck. “Good boy,” I said. “Trusty steed. ↗

— Laura Anderson Kurk

#glass-girl #henry-whitmire #horseback-riding #horses #laura-anderson-kurk

The thought that I might kill myself formed in my mind coolly as a tree or a flower. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#death #suicide #sylvia-plath #thought #death

Next to the first Henry and Meg, Henry had written, “Promise?” Well, that genie’s out of the bottle and there’s no stuffing her back in. ↗

— Laura Anderson Kurk

#dating-relationships #henry-whitmire #laura-anderson-kurk #love #meg-kavanagh