#mo

This is death. I don't want it to tarry awhile so I can write a monograph. I want it to go away for seventy or eighty years. ↗

— Don DeLillo

#long-life #monograph #time #death

If I could out run the Angel of Death I'd probably die from lack of breath! ↗

— Stanley Victor Paskavich

#death

As soon as he was gone I blew my breath out and leaned back against the wall. Awkward. First the cop who’d arrested me, then the paramedic who’d kept me from accidentally killing myself. I didn’t even want to think what a third thing might be. ↗

— Diana Rowland

#death

At the end to death I must go, Finishing a real tragic and funny show. ↗

— Mohit K. Misra

#mohit-misra #quotes #death

Quasimodo then lifted his eye to look upon the gypsy girl, whose body, suspended from the gibbet, he beheld quivering afar, under its white robes, in the last struggles of death; then again he dropped it upon the archdeacon, stretched a shapeless mass at the foot of the tower, and he said with a sob that heaved his deep breast to the bottom, 'Oh-all that I've ever loved!' The Hunchback of Notre Dame ↗

— Victor Hugo

#the-hunchback-of-notre-dame #death

God-fucking-damn but he was seriously good-looking. “Have you ever had the stuffed pancakes here? They’re evil. I highly recommend them.” “Heh. The cop is recommending evil,” I said. “Too funny.” To my surprise, Ivanov chuckled. “You’ve discovered my dark side. ↗

— Diana Rowland

#death

I grabbed my napkin and managed to pretend to sneeze which had the added effect of covering up most of my face which was surely completely beet red with embarrassment at this point. Yeah, I was classy and suave like that. Jesus Christ, Angel, get a grip! ↗

— Diana Rowland

#death

And strange were the tales of the pond in the meadow, And eager we listened with eyes opened wide To Those tales often told by poor Mary the widow, Who lived in a cottage the meadow beside. Play not, my dear boys, near the pond in the meadow, The mermaid is waiting to pull you beneath; Climb not for a bird’s nest, the bough it may sliver, And the mermaid will drag you to darkness and death. ↗

— J.R. Withers

#moon-stealers #science-fiction #death

In the absence of a cat, I’d consider cuddling with a synthetic fur coat. Especially if your dead grandma was wearing it.
 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#cats #coat #cuddle #cuddling #death

Will. For a moment her heart hesitated. She remembered when Will had died, her agony, the long nights alone, reaching across the bed every morning when she woke up, for years expecting to find him there, and only slowly growing accustomed to the fact that side of the bed would always be empty. The moments when she had found something funny and turned to share the joke with him, only to be shocked anew that he was not there. The worst moments, when, sitting alone at breakfast, she had realized that she had forgotten the precise blue of his eyes or the depth of his laugh; that, like the sound of Jem's violin music, they had faded into the distance where memories are silent. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#loneliness #loss #love #memories #tessa-gray