#last

Here lies one whose name was writ on water. ↗

— John Keats

#lasting-words #tombstone-inscription #inspirational

I'll never forget when we played Shepherd's Bush in London. We played 'I Run To You', and we put the mic out for the last chorus, and you could hear them singing the chorus with the beautiful accent that they have. ↗

— Hillary Scott

#beautiful #bush #chorus #could #forget

My last race was at Le Mans in 2000, my first race was in 1959, so I dodged a lot of bullets along the way, I can tell you that. ↗

— Mario Andretti

#bullets #first #i #i can #last

Three centuries after the appearance of Franklin's 'Courant,' it no longer requires a dystopic imagination to wonder who will have the dubious distinction of publishing America's last genuine newspaper. Few believe that newspapers in their current printed form will survive. ↗

— Eric Alterman

#america #appearance #believe #centuries #current

When my father-in-law, Jan Vuijst, a Dutch Reformed minister, was on his deathbed, I had a deeply intimate conversation with him - as it turned out, my last conversation with him. He said to me, 'It was a privilege to have lived.' The soulful gratitude of that simple statement will never leave me. ↗

— Daniel Klein

#last-words #life

If in the last few years you haven't discarded a major opinion or acquired a new one, check your pulse. You may be dead. ↗

— Gelett Burgess

#check #dead #discarded #few #haven

The Last Leaf I saw him once before, As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone." The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb. My grandmamma has said Poor old lady, she is dead Long ago That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow; But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here; But the old three-cornered hat, And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring, Let them smile, as I do now, At the old forsaken bough Where I cling. ↗

— Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.

#love

Tell me anything. Tell me everything. Revoke our time apart. Love me fierce in danger. ↗

— James Ellroy

#love

an English girl might well believe that time is how you spend your love. ↗

— Nick Laird

#nick-laird #poem #poetry #the-last-saturday-in-ulster #time

This is what love does, he realized, and in that moment he understood why Artemis had kidnapped a fairy to get the money to find his father. Love makes everything else seem inconsequential ↗

— Eoin Colfer

#love #the-last-guardian #love