You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Somewhere, in desolate, wind-swept space,
In twilight land, in no man's land,
Two hurrying shapes met face read more
Somewhere, in desolate, wind-swept space,
In twilight land, in no man's land,
Two hurrying shapes met face to face
And bade each other stand.
"And who are you?" cried one, a-gape,
Shuddering in the glimmering light.
"I know not," said the second shape,
"I only died last night."
Madame, all stories, if continued far enough, end in death, and he is no true-story teller who would keep that read more
Madame, all stories, if continued far enough, end in death, and he is no true-story teller who would keep that from you.
Death will be a great relief. No more interviews.
Death will be a great relief. No more interviews.
Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.
Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.
To die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly. Death of one's own free choice, death at read more
To die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly. Death of one's own free choice, death at the proper time, with a clear head and with joyfulness, consummated in the midst of children and witnesses: so that an actual leave-taking is possible while he who is leaving is still there.
The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity.
The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity.
I don\'t believe in death, neither in flesh nor in spirit.
I don\'t believe in death, neither in flesh nor in spirit.
Tis after death that we measure men.
Tis after death that we measure men.
Boy, when you are dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has read more
Boy, when you are dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a god dam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you are dead? Nobody.
