The dead leave their shadows, an echo of the space within which once they lived. They haunt us, never fading or growing older as we do. The loss we grieve is not just their futures but our own.
It's the living that turn and chase the dead. The long bones and skulls are tumbled from their shrouds, and words like stones thrust into their rattling mouths: we edit their writings, we rewrite their lives.
This lot won't suffer you forever.I wouldn't see you dead by their knives; I see a fine man within you Wit." "Yes, He tasted quite delicious.
Perhaps we’re back at the frontiers only of science here, and there’s nothing supernatural about it – just the emergence, through a thinning divide, of physical space shared with all that’s thought dead and lost.
I sat next to a salmon on the sofa. After ten minutes of bear-like conversation, it was dead. Oh well, at least surrealism is still alive.
I once placed third in the Battle of the Fourth Places. There were only two other competitors, so I felt proud. My grandma and grandpa beat me, despite having been dead over five years.
sometimes all we need to be able to continue alone are the dead rattling the walls that close us in.
Clary stopped dead in her tracks. "Simon?" "Oh, God," said Jace, sounding resigned. "And here I'd actually hoped I'd got hold of something interesting." -Clary and Jace pg. 114
Dreaming's shit, but dying's worse; and watching someone die, that comes somewhere between the two, I guess. It ain't good, but it's got to be better than the other thing, better than doing it yourself. Hasn't it?
Good choice. You have selected the SUV. Press one for a black SUV. Press two for powder blue. Press three for bright orange with the 'caution: bank robber on board' bumper sticker
...because there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds.
All the times I have suddenly realized that my parents are dead, even now, it still surprises me, to exist in the world while that which made me has ceased to exist.
A friend comes over with a Ouija board. It spells out: Bourbon. Where’s the band? Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.
I have often heard that the novel is dead. But I see novels produced, I don't know how many a week, in France. I have the impression it's carrying along quite well.
When I finish a film, I want to forget it. I never like to repeat myself. Maybe, when I am dead, they will find certain consistencies in the style of my films, but I never want one film to look like another.
I saw this thing years ago, where somebody filled a gymnasium with ping-pong balls and mousetraps. And then somebody threw just one more ping-pong ball in there, and literally, in five seconds, the room was popping. And then it was dead. And that's h...
You know, when something like, even like a coal mine disaster, or something like this, you think that well everybody's going to make a run to be able to get out, but it happened to fast that they were just all dead.
The worst thing about the dead rising? (Other than, you know, all the zombies?) The smell. Nothing kills the mood like the odor of three day old road kill and poo... -Katherine Anita Cho(KyCH)
My wife, Daniela, and I live in an old house from 1810 with three fireplaces at the end of a dead-end dirt road on Cape Cod, so I turn the trees into firewood for us and a friend of mine sells the rest.
Books are the perfect entertainment: no commercials, no batteries, hours of enjoyment for each dollar spent. What I wonder is why everybody doesn't carry a book around for those inevitable dead spots in life.
I am a zombie fan, but all of the zombie stories I've enjoyed started when the dead rose and ended three days later with everybody looking exhausted. I was thinking, 'What happens in 20 years?'
