Is that the end… of all the races and civilizations, and the dreams of the world, to be able to leave a few stones buried beneath the sands, to tell the Dark that we were...

Survival was more than the preservation of life. It was tenacity in the face of ruin, an unbroken resolve in the midst of defeat, a glimmer of hope in the maelstrom, and peace despite the...

One’s ribs shouldn’t be prison bars.

I am going to die, but that is of no importance.

To be the father of growing daughters is to understand something of what Yeats evokes with his imperishable phrase ‘terrible beauty.’ Nothing can make one so happily exhilarated or so frightened: it’s a solid lesson...

If you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a sister, even when the other half of the equation is gone?

Light or Death!

La verdad, es que en el fondo soy un fatalista. Si a uno le llega la hora, da lo mismo un Boeing que la puntual maceta que se derrumba sobre uno desde un séptimo piso

I held her close for only a short time, but after she was gone, I’d see her smile on the face of a perfect stranger and I knew she would be there with me all...

I want you here. I don’t care if it’s a hundred degrees and every blade of grass dies. Without you, none of that matters to me.

Unbeing dead isn’t being alive.

An eerie aspect of social media is the way the dead’s account lingers in digital space as a floating memorial. Friends post emotional farewells as if the departed will read them. But we all know...

The manner of Demoivre’s death has a certain interest for psychologists. Shortly before it, he declared that it was necessary for him to sleep some ten minutes or a quarter of an hour longer each...

Where music thundered let the mind be still,Where the will triumphed let there be no will,What light revealed, now let the dark fulfill.

One mile farther and I come to a second grave beside the road, nameless like the other, marked only with the dull blue-black stones of the badlands. I do not pause this time. The more...

Let me tell you something about dying: it’s not as bad as they says.it’s the coming-back-to-life part that hurts.

Things change after you die, though – I guess because dying is about the loneliest thing you can do.

Truly the universe is full of ghost, not sheeted churchyard spectres, but the inextinguishable elements of individual life, which having once been, can never die, though they blend and change, and change again for ever.

Perfection of character is this: to live each day as if it were your last, without frenzy, without apathy, without pretence.

He tried to think of death as he had done now and then, but that tired him and he dozed off. When he awoke an hour later, he felt fresh and calm as though he...

Love should not cause suffocation and death if it is truly love. Don’t bundle someone into an uncomfortable cage just because you want to ensure their safety in your life. The bird knows where it...

Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It’s the transition that’s troublesome.

Nobody likes the phenomenon of death, and death hates the phenomenon of life

Would it hurt to die? All those times he had thought it was about to happen and escaped, he had never really thought of the thing itself: his will to live had always been so...

These things are lost to oblivion like so much about so many who are born and die without anyone taking the time to write it all down. That Litvinoff had a wife who was so...

The meaning of life is that it stops.

Death is really the mystery of life, isn’t it?

In a world where the dead have returned to life, the word” trouble’ loses much of its meaning.

Look at the stupid, poor people. Look at the stupid, poor, burned-out people. Look at the stupid, poor, burned-out people, look at their dead baby. It’s death porn for the masses.

Nothing is permanent. The only thing any of us have in common is the inevitable.

I must confess, I have always wondered what lay beyond life, my dear.Yeah, everybody wonders. And sooner or later everybody gets to find out.

The idea that all souls are mortal is the only notion surely terminating love and all its forms.

… la muerte, por sí misma, sola, sin ninguna ayuda exterior, siempre ha matado mucho menos que el hombre.

You’re murderers,” she told the stunned crowd. “You killed him. He was a miracle, and you killed him. Now you’ve just got me. And I’m a curse.

I am your little ram,burying his muzzle in thick grass of your pasture,folded by you at night, herded by day,a dedicated dog nipping at my hocks.The day will come for you to drawthe bright sickle...

When she expressed a doubtful hope that Tinker Bell would be glad to see her, he said, ‘Who is Tinker Bell?’‘O Peter,’ she said, shocked; but even when she explained he could not remember.‘There are...

I didn’t have enough other people in my life to cover the loss of this many people at once. I didn’t have spare aunties or cousins or grandparents. I didn’t have backup. I didn’t have...

If I should die,” said I to myself, “I have left no immortal work behind me – nothing to make my friends proud of my memory – but I have lov’d the principle of beauty...

I’d write and read and let myself, a little at a time, step down into myself- like a stairway down into a dark, intimate kiva- where the work of vigil is taking place, the necessary...

We have an obligation to feel guilty.” The words came out of her lips as if she were reciting an elegy. “Guilty. Because we kill the ones we love.

You don’t fuck with fate, Oz, because she’ll ass-rape you with no lube, wearing a spiked dildo.

The worst part of writing fiction is the fear of wasting your life behind a keyboard. The idea that, dying, you’ll realize you only lived on paper. Your only adventures were make-believe, and while the...

Der Tod verändert auch die Lebenden.

Who knoweth if to die be but to live, and that called life by mortals be but death?

You’ve got to think of the fine times you had with your mate, not the moment of his perishin’. Every tear you shed now only wets his windin’ sheet and disturbs his rest

A little part of me dies every time I try to commit suicide. If life is a buffet, I’m still in the mac and cheese phase. Maybe one day I’ll mature into more of a...

So many people chased after me in that time, calling my name, asking me to take them with me. Then there was the small percentage who called me casually over and whispered with their tightend...

Past beings interact with present ones because life and death are a continuum and expiration entails no loss of vital essence.

I want to write my own eulogy, and I want to write it in Latin. It seems only fitting to read a dead language at my funeral.

You fuck – you ate my cat!