Death was a lens that would reveal things as they really were: what was important would assume its true importance; what was unimportant would recede into the shadows.
We walk on the ground and give sparse recognition to the mud that will be the eternal homes for the bodies that we praise so much. Ground might not worth much but it holds billions of history and some...
If I could control tomorrow's haze,The darkened shore wouldn't bother me,If I can't control the web we weave,My life will be lost in the fallen leaves...
I replayed the moment I first saw him at the picnic throughout our years together. As corny as it may sound, from the first glance we shared near the cake stand at the picnic, the two of us remained c...
Not how he died, not what he died of, even less why he died, are of concern, to me, only the fact that he did die, he is dead, is important: the loss to me, to us
Deep inside of us we all know there is someone we were meant to be.
We all emerge into this material soup, mix about with the meat and potatoes of life, and then slip away, back to the primordial germination whence we came. Nascence is a strange business: we forget wh...
Life is not profound without its own tragedy. It humbles us. Sets the bar for our introspection. Keeps us from believing we are gods. Puts our egos in check.
Fiction is an urgent business. It is the Dying Us telling stories to the Dying Us, trying to crack the nonsense in our heads open with a big hammer pronto, before Death arrives.
Si me convierto será porque es preferible que muera un creyente a que lo haga un ateo.
People are fragile. They die of mistakes, of overdoses, of sickness. But mostly they die of Death.
Be assured that any hurt to your spirit will pass in time. It is the nature of Death to take, but the nature of Life to give.
Ignore death up to the last moment; then, when it can't be ignored any longer, have yourself squirted full of morphia and shuffle off in a coma. Thoroughly sensible, humane and scientific, eh?
The flesh would shrink and go, the blood would dry, but no one believes in his mind of minds or heart of hearts that the pictures do stop.
In a sense, we are all crashing to our death from the top story of our birth ... and wondering with an immortal Alice at the patterns of the passing wall. This capacity to wonder at trifles - no matte...
... [They] took it upon themselves to start the laborious process of cranking up life again, after death has stopped us all in its tracks.
We never actively remember death,' Odenigbo said. The reason we live as we do is because we do not remember that we will die. We will all die.
To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub,For in this sleep of death what dreams may come...
Terminado el entierro, por fin podría llorar.
We cry for ourselves, don't we? Not for the dead. The dead are past caring.