What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
History is just a way of keeping score, but it doesn't have to be who we are.
There is some delight in ale and wine And some in girls with ankles fine But my delight, yes always mine Is to dance with Jak O’ the Shadows We will toss the dice however they fall And snuggle the girls be they short or tall Then follow Lord Mat whenever he calls To dance with Jak O’ the Shadows.
There were times Ruma felt closer to her mother in death than she had in life, an intimacy born simply of thinking of her so often, of missing her. But she knew that this was an illusion, a mirage, and that the distance between them was now infinite, unyielding.
What glitters may not be gold; and even wolves may smile; and fools will be led by promises to their deaths.
Maybe the only good thing about death is that you never have to relive it. You never have to remember the pain.
People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!” There‘s dead silence on the set. It goes on. And on. Finally, the intercom crackles and Haymitch‘s acerbic laugh fills the studio. He contains himself just long enough to say, “And that, my friends, is how a revolution dies.
Time and death sleep side by side.
The scariest thing in the world is thinking someone you love is going to die.
The thing about dead people... The thing is you sound like a bastard if you don't romanticize them, but the truth is... complicated, I guess.
It hurts when they're gone. And it doesn't matter if it's slow or fast, whether it's a long drawn-out disease or an unexpected accident. When they're gone the world turns upside down and you're left holding on, trying not to fall off.
It was an indulgence, learning last words. Other people had chocolate; I had dying declarations.
Birth and death: there was the same consciousness of heightened existence and of her own elevated importance
Alive. Alive in the way that death is alive.
Death is nature’s way of saying, ‘Your table is ready.
Each of us has his own rhythm of suffering.
Don't look forward to the day you stop suffering, because when it comes you'll know you're dead.
If it means my death, I don't care, because even death will be a sort of freedom.
The flesh surrenders itself. Eternity takes back its own. Our bodies stirred these waters briefly, danced with a certain intoxication before the love of life and self, dealt with a few strange ideas, then submitted to the instruments of Time. What can we say of this? I occurred. I am not...yet, I occurred.
Any way I slice reality it comes out poorly, and I feel an urge to not exist, something I have never felt before; and now here it comes with conviction, almost panic. I mentally bless and exonerate anyone who has kicked a chair out from beneath her or swallowed opium in large chunks. My mind has met their environment, here in the void. I understand perfectly.
