As survivors and procreators, we unravel stories that at their root are not dissimilar from the habitual behaviors seen in nature. But as beings who know they will die we digress into episodes and epics that are altogether dissociated from the natural world. We may isolate this awareness, distract ourselves from it, anchor our minds far from its shores, and sublimate it as a motif in our sagas. Yet at no time and in no place are we protected from being tapped on the shoulder and reminded, __ou__e going to die, you know._ However much we try to ignore it, our consciousness haunts us with this knowledge. Our heads were baptized in the font of death; they are doused with the horror of moribundity.
A stray dog, I might understand," she said. "But this? You are too softhearted."No, Mabry," Ravus said. "I am not." He looked in Val's direction. "I think she wants to die."Maybe you can help her after all," Mabry said. "You're good at helping people die.
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A stray dog, I might understand," she said. "But this? You are too softhearted."No, Mabry," Ravus said. "I am not." He looked in Val's direction. "I think she wants to die."Maybe you can help her after all," Mabry said. "You're good at helping people die.
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I was struck by an awful thought, the kind that cannot be taken back once it escapes into the open air of consciousness; it seemed to me that this was not a place you go to live. It was a place you go to die.
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If we stop helping people because we__e afraid, or ambivalent or whatever, then we lose. Let them do evil. I__l stop them.
Fate," Bizzy said, "adjusts quicker 'n a hungery dog can lick a dish.
Live with GRACE & Die with PRIDE.