#mo

We are ants on the carcass of the world, spawned out of nothing, going busily nowhere. One of us dies, the others crawl over us to the pickings. ↗

— Morris L. West

#giacomo-nerone #life #death

Spiritually the jugs may be graduated thus: Just below the shoulder of the first bottle, serious and concentrated conversation. Two inches farther down, sweetly sad memory. Three inches more, thoughts of old and satisfactory loves. An inch, thoughts of old and bitter loves. Bottom of the first jug, general and undirected sadness. Shoulder of the second jug, black, unholy despondency. Two fingers down, a song of death or longing. A thumb, every other song each one knows. The graduation stops here, for the trail splits and there is no certainty. From this point on, anything can happen. ↗

— John Steinbeck

#death

My death granted immortality. With one look, I knew he’d be my undoing…” Forgotten, book #1 of the Fate Trilogy ↗

— Sarah J. Pepper

#fate #god #immortal #kiss #love

The only thing humans are equal in is death. ↗

— Johan Liebert

#naoki-urasawa #death

I don't fear death--I fear dying before I've read Dickens end to end. ↗

— Amy Smith

#literature #reading #death

Do you feel no compunction, Socrates, at having followed a line of action which puts you in danger of the death penalty?' I might fairly reply to him, 'You are mistaken, my friend, if you think that a man who is worth anything ought to spend his time weighing up the prospects of life and death. He has only one thing to consider in performing any action--that is, whether he is acting rightly or wrongly, like a good man or a bad one. ↗

— Socrates

#right-and-wrong-in-philosophy #death

Idag samlar vi skor och bilar, igår flintyxor. Utan tvivel har arkeologer funnit betydligt fler flintyxor än vad människan rimligtvis behövde. Jag tror att flintyxorna handlar om en längtan, kanske en rädsla. Om jag bara har tillräckligt många flintyxor, eller skor, eller ett nyrenoverat kök så kan inget ont hända. Det är den där dödsångesten igen. Den otäcka insikten att allt, allt, allt är förgängligt. Jag kommer att dö, men mina flintyxor kommer att finnas kvar. (Och de fanns ju kvar, eller hur? Men vad hjälper det?) ↗

— Ann Heberlein

#death #mortality #death

It was the first day in the life of the new lean and mean Peabody. An hour later, she lay on the grubby floor wheezing like the dying. Her quads and hamstrings burned, her glutes wept, and her arms couldn't stop screaming for mama. "Never doing this again," she announced. "Yes, you are," she corrected. "Can't. Dying. Can. Will. Help me, I think I broke my ass. Wimp, pussy. Shut up. ↗

— J.D. Robb

#peabody #death

El mar era Carlos Vives desde que nos escapamos tres días a una playa desierta en Cozumel. Lo miraba tratando de recuperar algo. ¿Qué sería mejor? Tanto tuvimos. ¿Por qué no la muerte?, me preguntaba, si hasta los días que pasamos en el mar resultó inevitable jugar con ella. ↗

— Ángeles Mastretta

#death #love #mar #muerte #recuerdo

Staring out to sea, I finally forced myself to stop thinking of her as someone still somewhere, if only in memory, still obscurely alive, breathing, doing, moving, but as a shovelful of ashes already scattered; as a broken link, a biological dead end, an eternal withdrawal from reality, a once complex object that now dwindled, dwindled, left nothing behind except a l like a fallen speck of soot on a blank sheet of paper. ↗

— John Fowles

#death-of-a-loved-one #memories #death