#ric

I want to die, stripped, by myself, of all fantasies. That's the goal. I want to feel what is real, at the end, and only what is real. Grip fiercely with my eyes all that is around me--the people of my intimate life, the objects in the room, without the evasions of fantasies. ↗

— Frank Lentricchia

#film #frank-lentricchia #the-sadness-of-antonioni #death

Life moved, as inconstant and fickle as Wind Baby, frolicking, sleeping, weeping, but never truly still. Never solid or finished. Always like water flowing from one place to the next. Seed and fruit. Rain and drought, everything traveled in a gigantic circle, an eternal process of becoming something new. But we rarely saw it. Humans tended to see only frozen moments, not the flow of things. ↗

— Kathleen O'Neal Gear

#native-american-wisdom #death

With the snow piling up outside, the warm dry cabin hidden in its fold of the mountain felt like a safe haven indeed, though it had not been such for the people who had lived there. Soldiers had found them and made the cabin trailhead to a path of exile, loss, and death. But for a while that night, it was a place that held within its walls no pain nor even a vague memory collection of pain. ↗

— Charles Frazier

#native-americans #pain #death

When a group of people are forced to navigate a minefield together, everyone feels a grudging sense of comfort when someone else gets blown up. Though there may be other unseen landmines left in the ground, each death creates a safe spot. A landmine cannot explode twice in the same place. Sure, the explosion robs the survivors of a comrade. Still, each death makes everyone’s next step marginally safer. So everyone keeps walking with grief on their faces, and relief in their hearts. Their own deaths are further postponed by the end of another life. ↗

— Taona Dumisani Chiveneko

#flame-lily #great-zimbabwe #hangman #mystrey #parnormal

The property is cursed. Death dwells here. These rivers run with the blood of those who came before you. Life may not trespass, and when it tries, it will surely be snuffed out. ↗

— Denise Daisy

#death

That is what the Slave Trade was all about. Not death from poxes and musketry and whippings and malnutrition and melancholy and suicide: death itself. For before the white men came to Guinea to strip-mine field hands. ... black people did not die ... the decedent ... took up residence in an afterworld that was in many ways indistinguishable from his former estate. ↗

— David Bradley

#race #race-america #slave-trade #slavery #death

You are my world, my everything You stupid girl, you're gonna be the death of me So let me go, just let me be You stupid girl, I love the way you're killing me (killing me) You stupid girl (killing me) You stupid girl ↗

— Framing Hanley

#death

Before the battle they had been discussing whether there might be life after death, and Windham and Rochester had made a pact that if there was, the first to die would come back and tell the other. But, said Rochester, he [Windham] never did. ↗

— Jenny Uglow

#charles-ii #historical #history #sad #death

Ain’t nothing too serious. Even death is a joke on the old devil, if we are living for the Lord. from "Beyond Sandy Ridge ↗

— Nancy B. Brewer

#bestseller #carolina-rain #civil-war #historical-fiction #kindle

A jet may be perfect for breaking the speed of sound, but a brick is designed to break the speed of silence. Just listen to that quietness.
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— Jarod Kintz

#brick-and-blanket-responses #brick-and-blanket-test #brick-and-blanket-uses #design