suicide

It will generally be found that, as soon as the terrors of life reach the point at which they outweigh the terrors of death, a man will put an end to his life. But the terrors of death offer considerable resistance; they stand like a sentinel at the gate leading out of this world. Perhaps there is no man alive who would not have already put an end to his life, if this end had been of a purely negative character, a sudden stoppage of existence. There is something positive about it; it is the destruction of the body; and a man shrinks from that, because his body is the manifestation of the will to live.

Talking of suicide, it is perhaps noteworthy that both of Dostoievsky's characters kill themselves: Stavrogin out of indifference and self disgust; Kirilov, after years of planning the gesture, in order to demonstrate to mankind that there is no God and that men are free to do as they please. My suicide will be less didactic.

Suicide is not a choice, it is what is left when everything else fails.

I was a prisoner inside my own body. I felt desperate, angry, stupid, confused, ashamed, hopeless and absolutely alone... and that this was of my own making. I could speak at home, how come I couldn't outside it? I have never been able to find the right words to describe what it was like. Imagine that for one day you are unable to speak to anyone you meet outside your own family, particularly at school/college, or out shopping, etc., have no sign language, no gestures, no facial expression. Then imagine that for eight years, but no one really understands. It was like torture, and I was the only person that knew it was happening. My body and face were frozen most of the time. I became hyperconscious of myself when outside the home and it was a relief to get back as I was always exhausted. I attempted to hide it (an impossible task) because I felt so ashamed that I couldn't do what other people seemed to find so natural and easy - to speak. At times I felt suicidal.

Meredith's father, the composer, who shot himself in this house. Came all the way from Vienna to shoot himself in LA. Escaped the Nazis but not himself.

Suicide is the night train, speeding your way to darkness.

I__ happy to just be able to come across things. I don__ need to be happy. Happiness is a kind of cheap word. Let__ face it, I__ not the kind of cat that__ going to cut off an ear if I can__ do something. I would commit suicide. I would shoot myself in the brain if things got bad. I would jump from a window_you know, I can think about death openly. It__ nothing to fear. It__ nothing sacred. I__e seen so many people die. Life__ not sacred either

When I was last in Paris I was dirt poor, hiding from the Vietnam War. One night, in an old church, I considered taking my life. I didn't know how to be so young and not belong anywhere, stuck among so many perplexing melodies.

If somebody count on you will he suicide?

Don__ kill yourself just because you think and feel you are empty. God needs empty vessels to fill!

Rory said he loved me but wouldn't hold my hand in public. & he wanted so badly to end the pain, but it never went away, it stayed with the people that loved him.

I personally don't think about jumping because things can't possibly get worse... To the contrary, I contemplate it because I believe things probably will.

Conscience is worse than death, some people commit suicide to evade it.

Suicide" Kissshot said disappointedly .Her eyes were downcast , facing the town spread out below her ."A common reason , one accounting for nine-tenths of vampire deaths"."....."."Incidentally , the remaining tenth succumb to vampire slayers - any other reason fit within the margins of a rounding error"."Suicide ? Why ?"."Do they not speak of dying of boredom ?".Boredom was a killer .Guilt could kill you - but boredom was lethal .

What I failed to see was that, by ending my life, I would cause interminable pain to my family and friends. I could not understand the heartbreak it would cause those around me. Nor did I consider that my brother, Joseph, might live the rest of his life in continual rage, or that my sister, Libby, might shut herself off from the world and fall into perpetual depression, silence, and sadness mistakenly blaming themselves for my death as many family members do when they lose someone they love to suicide. I certainly held no understanding of the enormous pain my mother and father would suffer because they lost their oldest son in such a terrifying and devastating way. They would not have a chance to watch me mature, marry, and perhaps have children. Instead, all of their hopes, aspirations, and dreams for me would be destroyed with my decision to end my life by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge.

If her mind had held even the smallest chance of a future, she would have had no reason to tell me anything at all, whether or not it could send her to prison. But this is what I know about people getting ready to walk off the edges of their own lives: they want someone to know how they got there. Maybe they want to know that when they dissolve into earth and water, that last fragment will be saved, held in some corner of someone's mind; or maybe all they want is is a chance to dump it pulsing and bloody into someone else's hands, so it won't weigh them down on the journey. They want to leave their stories behind. No one in all the world knows that better than I do.

Imagine how many suicide victims would still be with us, if only the right person said the right thing at the right time.

On suicide:Those are vanities, child. They cause immeasurable suffering in this life and all future lives. Who knows, perhaps you have been given this harsh portion because of misdeeds in some past life.