...Night has chosen thee; thy death will be thy birth. Night calls to thee; harken to Her sweet voice. Your destiny awaits you at the House of Night.
Smartass Disciple: Why men don't ready yet to join the intergalactic confederation? Master of Stupidity: Men could make them laugh to death. It'd be too risky for them.
Western funerals: black hearses, and black horses, and fast-fading flowers. Why should black be the colour of death? Why not the colours of a sunset?
The chanting went on, the musicians giving in to the rhythm of their own being, finding healing in touching that rhythm, and healing in chanting about death, the only real god they knew.
Welcome to the future, she thought, surveying all this wordage and tat. All our tragedies and triumphs, our lives and deaths, our shames and joys are just stuffing for your emptiness.
Some people are like singularities. Get close enough and you will be uncontrollably consumed in an infinite attraction and will cease to exist apart from them.
The most purely free decision one can make—and thus, the highest order of spirit on Earth—is believing in something without evidential knowledge.
Whoever has the better stuff wins. Sound familiar, American lackeys of late-stage capitalism?
It's a certain tragedy when agony and resentment are all you have left connecting you to someone you once loved.
Death and burial were a public spectacle. Shakespeare may have seen for himself the gravediggers at St Ann's, Soho, playing skittles with skulls and bones.
There are any number of magical creatures, mostly female, whose singing can bring about horror and death. Sirens, undines, banshees, Bananarama tribute bands...
Death does not concern me. He who takes his first step uses perhaps his last shoes. (Halmalo)
My #love stories have happy endings, because I stop the tales before dejection, dementia, and death occur.
Each man is master of his own death and all that we can do when the time comes is to help him die without fear of pain.
Then he looked at Florentino Ariza, his invincible power, his intrepid love, and he was overwhelmed by the belated suspicion that it is life, more than death, that has no limits.
Why are my sons followed thus by darkness?' ...'Because they were born in the house of flesh, therefore death follows at their heels.
Nikolai had expected to have to fight the urge to torture the progeny of his father’s murderer, but he had never anticipated fighting the urge to fuck her.
In effect, nobody who is not from the losing classes has ever been thrust into a death cell in these United States.
He sensed Death with a depth and clarity of which only small children or great philosophers are capable, philosophers who are themselves almost childlike in the power and simplicity of their thinking.
The friend I can trust is the one who will let me have my death. The rest are actors who want me to stay and further the plot.
Death was painful, not because people couldn't see their loved ones anymore, but because they couldn't communicate with them anymore.
