death-and-dying

The impeccable watchmaker geared the noble self to suffer. The ineluctable part of being human is perpetual sorrow, grief, and misery. Suffering is part of living. Life begins joyously and regretfully ends in tragedy. The cold realities of the world triumphantly crush each one of us. Between birth and death is comedic conjugation, the haunting prelude to the end of the self.

It's harder to pick and choose when you're dead. It's like a photograph, you know. It doesn't matter as much.

War didn't scare me. I just didn't want to go all the way-hell over there to fight one. I had a reputation after that--I pretended I shot myself by accident, but everyone knew. I never did lose that reputation, but now most everyone is dead, and y'all ain't got any stories from them, so you have to believe mine by default: They were cowards, too. Everyone is.

Death is just a door that only love can come and go through.

The bravest thing I ever did was continuing my life when I wanted to die.

Each man lives in his own universe and when he dies the world is over

Growing older is a blurred birth certificate that only can take us to this world__ perplexed journey, but it cannot smear the letters of the epitaph

People tend to think that death is absolute, the one thing we can all be certain about, but that__ not the case. Death is complex. It__ powerful and timeless. The truth is, when it comes to death, nothing is impossible.

It__ just another stop on the curvy roadthe final encounterfor the man who has liveddeath is the answer.

Grief, no matter how you try to cater to its wail, has a way of fading away.

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 connected like the icing on one of those made from scratch cakes...

A carpenter is hired- a roof repaired, a porch built. Everything that can be fixed. June, July, August. Everyday we hear their laughter. I think of the painting by van Gogh, the man in the chair. Everything wrong, and nowhere to go. His hands over his eyes.

Do what is right and what is good." -- Bryeison to Alasdair before going to his death on the battlefield.

I haven__ been able to pray with the same unquestioned simplicity of hope since Dustin passed. My childhood ended the day my brother died. The naive hope that a miracle would save him, that he would one day walk, that a disease was a blessing in my family _ that hope died with him.

Life is the only thing which can never be replaced when lost.

You__e too much of a bitch to go gently into that good night.___ou should put that on a greeting card.

I suppose each of us has his own fantasy of how he wants to die. I would like to go out in a blaze of glory, myself, or maybe simply disappear someday, far out in the heart of the wilderness I love, all by myself, alone with the Universe and whatever God may happen to be looking on. Disappear - and never return. That's my fantasy.

You can get over a million dollars worth of life insurance in case you die, but only eight to ten bucks and hour to live