#tin

When compared to the fact that he might very well be dead by this time tomorrow, whether he was courageous or not today was pointless, empty. When compared to the fact that he might be dead tomorrow, everything was pointless. It just didn't make any difference. It was pointless to the tree, it was pointless to every man in his outfit, pointless to everybody in the whole world. Who cared? It was not pointless only to him; and when he was dead, when he ceased to exist, it would be pointless to him too. More important: Not only would it be pointless, it would have been pointless all along. This was an obscure and rather difficult point to grasp. Understanding of it kept slipping in and out on the edges of his mind. It flickered, changing its time sense and tenses. At those moments when he understood it, it left him with a very hollow feeling. ↗

— James Jones

#emptiness #pointlessness #understanding #change

Writing doesn't leave much time for hobbies, unless you consider that I began writing as a hobby and have made the hobby into a profession. ↗

— Nelson DeMille

#consider #hobbies #hobby #i #into

And I’m not spying! I’m evaluating!” “It’s the same difference! ↗

— Kim Harrison

#difference #evaluating #grace #madison #spying

I was trying to write then and I found the greatest difficulty, aside from knowing what you really felt, rather that what you were supposed to feel, and had been taught to feel, was to put down what really happened in action; what the actual things which produced the emotion that you experienced... ↗

— Ernest Hemingway

#death

I edit my own stories to death. They eventually run and hide from me. ↗

— Jeanne Voelker

#writing #death

Our existence comes with Death. And it comes with suffering, death alone is not enough and pleasure have consequences. wicked and fucked. love comes with hurting. And having means losing. ↗

— Ira N. Barin

#death-and-dying #death-and-love #death-and-sickness #hurting #losing

There’s no getting better, Storm. This is it.” There’s no coming back from the dead. ↗

— K.A. Tucker

#death #k-a-tucker #ten-tiny-breaths #death

He is my valentine, he's dark, he's mine, he knows everyone. His name is Death. ↗

— Izicain

#valentine #death

When it is winter and we must walk in the blizzard snow do not our fingers and toes whisper death  And when winter is at last over. . .can we not hear our bellies whisper death to us  In the dark don't we know  And when we are paralyzed by nightmares  We know what you are.  With our first cries we rail against you.  We see you in every drop of blood in every tear. ↗

— Martine Leavitt

#keturah-and-lord-death #martine-leavitt #death

Forget it. Never explain; never apologize. You can either write posthumously or you can't. ↗

— Christopher Hitchens

#literature #nadine-gordimer #writing #death