death-and-dying

Dave learned that Death is the opposite of peace: it__ struggle, it__ ugly, it__ horrific, it__ dirty. And ultimately, Death is emptiness.

Jason smiled. The sound of wings was louder now, the fluttering of angels come to carry him home.

The stony silence of death, trapped by the original gravity of our sins,and the perpetuity of a long, leisurely yawn, a world where blood and bone no longer matter.

The scariest thing about death is not dying, it's the uncertainty of what happens after

O, treacherous Death! You can't be forgiven for vanquishing my creator to the dust...

Whether I resolve to fire, earth, water, air, Or all the elements by scruples, I know not, Nor greatly care. - Shoot. Shoot!Of all deaths, the violent death is best;For from ourselves it steals ourselves so fast,The pain, once apprehended, is quite past.

Perhaps, in a few people, I have seen what can be described as a struggle with death, and it can be distressing to behold. But for the vast majority of people death is gentle, tender.

In the natural course of events, the period when death is taking over a body is fairly brief. My grandfather (who had no medication) had about a fortnight of this period in his life. Today it can drag on for months or years.

Only the dead, can speak about their world.

He__ seen a lot of bizarre items left at gravesides, like a carton of eggs, a pair of reading glasses, a bag of licorice, smooth stones, a spoon.

Welcome to Irkalla, the Land of the Dead,_ the woman said. __ am Ereshkigal, Queen of the Underworld.

Eventually, that feeling fades, but there is always the memory of those days. When you__e young, everything is butterflies. What I mean is__t__ all new. I guess he was telling you to still believe, to hold on to your butterflies.

It is better to die honorably and render yourself immortal than live to old age and fade to dust.

The central question of any execution: do you want the hood on or off? Would you rather see it coming? Or would you rather simply drift away, cocooned in warm darkness, stinking of nothing but yourself? A kind, familiar place to hide in, just before the snap, the crackle? Or the pop?

I had a very funny and depressing talk with my seventy-four-year-old mother. I decided, she doesn't have a bucket list - she has a kick-the-bucket list.

The place smelled of commodes and playing cards, and before I was halfway to the end I had made a firm resolve never to begin to die. For me it would be all or nothing: no half measures, no lingering on the doorstep.

It is never too early to start thinking about your own death and the deaths of those you love. I don__ mean thinking about death in obsessive loops, fretting that your husband has been crushed in a horrific car accident, or that your plane will catch fire and plummet from the sky. But rational interaction, that ends with you realizing that you will survive the worst, whatever the worst may be. Accepting death doesn__ mean that you won__ be devastated when someone you love dies. It means you will be able to focus on your grief, unburdened by bigger existential questions like __hy do people die?_ and __hy is this happening to me?_ Death isn__ happening to you. Death is happening to us all.

I waited for the Earth to stop spinning, for the rift to open and swallow us. Yet the ash tree remained framed in the window, refused to fall. Rain streaked the glass. Blood throbbed in my ears. Preternatural silence. The cruellest April.I was not deceived. What I saw was samsara, illusion. The world had ended. I was sure of it.