Dead Yet Roblox Quotes

#1. Forget the dead, the past? O yet there are ghosts that may take revenge for it, memories that make the heart a tomb, regrets which gild thro' the spirit's gloom, and with ghastly whispers tell that joy, once lost, is pain. - Author: Percy Bysshe Shelley

#2. And yet death was not something you could ignore. It had its weight. It was a dead man lying upstairs, not a man who was sick. It seemed to her she had better not form the practice of ignoring death. If she tried it, death would find a way to answer back - it would take another of her loved ones, to remind her to respect it. - Author: Larry McMurtry

#3. With such global events looming over us like mountains, nay, like entire mountain ranges, it may seem incongruous and inappropriate to recall that the primary key to our being or non-being resides in each individual human heart, in the heart's preference for specific good or evil. Yet this remains true even today, and it is, in fact, the most reliable key we have. The social theories that promised so much have demonstrated their bankruptcy, leaving us at a dead end. - Author: Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

#4. Word on the streets of Chicago in 1963 was that if Chuck Nicoletti got a contract with your name on it, you were already dead-- you just didn't know it yet. - Author: Richard Belzer And David Wayne

#5. Several years later, I received a letter from a young Englishman. He said that his father had died in the race, he knew not how or why. He had come across "Fastnet, Force 10" in a library and now he understood. Now, he wrote, it was time for him to sail his own Fastnet and finish the race that his father had completed. I sympathized; I was on a journey of my own as a student in divinity school. Yet I worried that he might be a little reckless out there, and suggested that there are other ways to honor the dead. I never again heard from him, but I do believe that - as in the Cornish tale about the water calling, "The hour is come, but not the man" - he joined the line of landsmen inevitably rushing down the hills to the sea. - Author: John Rousmaniere

#6. It is from the bystanders (who are in the vast majority) that we receive the propaganda that life is not worth living, that life is drudgery, that the ambitions of youth must he laid aside for a life which is but a painful wait for death. These are the ones who squeeze what excitement they can from life out of the imaginations and experiences of others through books and movies. These are the insignificant and forgotten men who preach conformity because it is all they know. These are the men who dream at night of what could have been, but who wake at dawn to take their places at the now-familiar rut and to merely exist through another day. For them, the romance of life is long dead and they are forced to go through the years on a treadmill, cursing their existence, yet afraid to die because of the unknown which faces them after death. They lacked the only true courage: the kind which enables men to face the unknown regardless of the consequences. - Author: Hunter S. Thompson

#7. yet I have ever thought the knowledge of kindred and genealogies of the ancient families of a country a matter so far from contempt, that it deserveth highest praise. Herein consisteth a part of the knowledge of a man's own selfe. It is a great spurr to vertue to look back on the worth of our line. In this is the memory of the dead preserved with the living, being more firm and honourable than any epitaph. The living know that band which tyeth them to others. By this man is distinguished from the reasonless creatures, and the noble of men from the base sort. For it often falleth out (though we cannot tell how) for the most part, that generositie - Author: Katherine Thomson

#8. Alone, and start to think. There are the rushing waves ... mountains of molecules, each stupidly minding its own business ... trillions apart ... yet forming white surf in unison. Ages on ages ... before any eyes could see ... year after year ... thunderously pounding the shore as now. For whom, for what? ... on a dead planet, with no life to entertain. Never at rest ... tortured by energy ... wasted prodigiously by the sun ... poured into space. A mite makes the sea roar. Deep in the sea, all molecules repeat the patterns of one another till complex new ones are formed. They make others like themselves ... and a new dance starts. Growing in size and complexity ... living things, masses of atoms, DNA, protein ... dancing a pattern ever more intricate. Out of the cradle onto the dry land ... here it is standing ... atoms with consciousness ... matter with curiosity. Stands at the sea ... wonders at wondering ... I ... a universe - Author: Richard Feynman

#9. (You look the same.)

(I'm not using it yet.)

(Don't you think a test run would be a good idea?)

She nodded. (Probably.)

Her eyelids closed as she concentrated on a mental image of the person she wished to impersonate. Her desire was to appear exactly as the immortal leader, Pallador. Calling on the powers of the dragon's blood, she willed its enchantment alive. It was Ian's astounded whisper that told her the charm was working.

"Whoa!"

Opening her eyes she fully expected to see Ian staring at the shining gems on the dragon's blood. Instead, he was staring at her with a look that was more or less disgusted.

(That's really you?) he asked, looking her up and down as though she had turned into some sort of lizard creature.

(Yes, why? What's wrong with me?) Her gaze dropped to check for herself. All she observed was her tawny dress pulled in at the waist by Edgar's hideous, glowing belt. She glanced at one arm and then the other, both sleeved in the same billowed silk. Her fingers flailed, still the same short, slender digits.

(Oh crud,) she breathed. (It's not working.)

(Oh, it's working alright,) Ian disagreed.

Eena glanced up to find him grinning with real amusement.

(You're a dead ringer for the guy. Ghost robe, bug eyes, bony fingers, in need of a serious haircut. Exactly like him.)

(Really?)

(Really.)

(Cool,) sh - Author: Richelle E. Goodrich

#10. It isn't just the dying part; it's the thought of the day coming when I will have already been dead five, ten, two hundred years. All those centuries piling on top of me, like so many fallen trees. The fact that I will neither know nor care is of little comfort because I'm not, as yet, dead. The only cure for the fear of death is death. - Author: Abigail Thomas

#11. Is this true?" Suzette asked, sounding like a suspicious nanny. It was a tone Daniel had heard often as a child, though from his mother, not a nanny. They hadn't been able to afford a nanny. Oddly enough, he suddenly found himself imagining Suzette as that nonexistent nanny, though really the gown he pictured her in as that nanny was nothing a respectable nanny would wear and covered less than it revealed as she approached him in his mind with a naughty smile and a spanking paddle in hand.
"Spank me," he breathed on a sigh, and then muttered, "Better yet,let me spank you." A vision immediately rose in his mind of her turning and slowly pulling up her scandalously short, ankle-revealing skirt to present him with a view of her very fine bottom.
That vision died an abrupt death when Richard's voice intruded, soaked with melodrama as he said, "Guilt can lead a man to act like an ass and do the most foolish of things."
Daniel almost snorted at that. He was standing there in a dark room all but dancing with a dead man while having the most ridiculous sexual fantasies about Suzette. All this wile waiting to be able to slip out of the house undiscovered. Oh yes, guilt-and many other emotions-made a man do foolish things. - Author: Lynsay Sands

#12. The harassed look is that of a desperately tired swimmer or runner; yet there is no question of stopping. The creature we are watching will struggle on and on until it drops. Not because it is heroic. It can imagine no alternative.
Staring and staring into the mirror, it sees many faces within its face - the face of the child, the boy, the young man, the not-so-young-man - all present still, preserved as fossils, dead. Their message to this live dying creature is: Look at us - we have died -what is there to be afraid of?
It answers them: But it happened so gradually, so easily. I am afraid of being rushed. - Author: Christopher Isherwood

#13. And now without redemption all mankind
Must have been lost, adjudged to death and hell
By doom severe, had not the Son of God,
In whom the fullness dwells of love divine,
His dearest mediation thus renewed.
'Father, Thy word is passed, man shall find grace;
And shall grace not find means, that finds her way,
The speediest of Thy winged messengers,
To visit all Thy creatures, and to all
Comes unprevented, unimplored, unsought,
Happy for man, so coming; he her aid
Can never seek, once dead in sins and lost;
Atonement for himself or offering meet,
Indebted and undone, hath none to bring:
Behold Me then, Me for him, life for life
I offer, on Me let Thine anger fall;
Account Me man; I for his sake will leave
Thy bosom, and this glory next to Thee
Freely put off, and for him lastly die
Well pleased, on Me let death wreak all his rage;
Under his gloomy power I shall not long
Lie vanquished; Thou hast given Me to possess
Life in Myself forever, by Thee I live,
Though now to death I yield, and am his due
All that of Me can die, yet that debt paid,
Thou wilt not leave Me in the loathsome grave
His prey, nor suffer My unspotted soul
Forever with corruption there to dwell;
But I shall rise victorious, and subdue
My vanquisher, spoiled of his vaunted spoil;
Death his death's wound shall then receive, and stoop
Inglorious, of his mortal - Author: John Milton

#14. Go to the winter woods: listen there, look, watch, and "the dead months" will give you a subtler secret than any you have yet found in the forest. - Author: William Sharp

#15. One step beyond that boundary line which resembles the line dividing the living from the dead lies uncertainty, suffering, and death. And what is there? Who is there?
there beyond that field, that tree, that roof lit up by the sun? No one knows, but one wants to know. You fear and yet long to cross that line, and know that sooner or later it must be crossed and you will have to find out what is there, just as you will inevitably have to learn what lies the other side of death. But you are strong, healthy, cheerful, and excited, and are surrounded by other such excitedly animated and healthy men. - Author: Leo Tolstoy

#16. For what seemed a long time Mat knelt there with his father's dead wrist in his hand, while his mind arrived and arrived and yet arrived at that place and time and that body lying still on the soiled and bloodied stones. - Author: Wendell Berry

#17. He was in his coffin, ready to be buried, and yet he knew that he wasn't dead. - Author: Gabriel Garcia Marquez

#18. Cooper smiled. "You feel weird yet? Pulling the trigger is easy, but the stuff afterwards will bother you."
"I'll be honest, Cooper. If you wanted me to kill a kid or a woman, I wouldn't be able to do it. I'm not hardcore and you shouldn't think what I did proved I was. Corbin was a dead man walking. Someone was killing him. It just happened to be me."
Studying me, Cooper smiled. "I don't want blood thirsty freaks, you know? A lot of clubs have violent muscle. That might sound great, but try controlling the fuckers. I prefer obedient dogs to the rabid ones."
"Thanks for comparing me to a dog."
"You're welcome," he said, smirking. - Author: Bijou Hunter

#19. I want to travel in Europe, Alyosha, I shall set off from here. And yet I know that I am only going to a graveyard, but it's a most precious graveyard, that's what it is! Precious are the dead that lie there, every stone over them speaks of such burning life in the past, of such passionate faith in their work, their truth, their struggle and their science, that I know I shall fall on the ground and kiss those stones and weep over them; though I'm convinced in my heart that it's long been nothing but a graveyard. - Author: Fyodor Dostoyevsky

#20. I hadn't gotten old enough yet to realize that living sends a person not into the future but back into the past, to childhood and before birth, finally, to commune with the dead. You get older, you puff on the stairs, you enter the body of your father. From there it's only a quick jump to your grandparents, and then before you know it you're time traveling. In this life we grow backwards. - Author: Jeffrey Eugenides

#21. There is a god in whom I do not believe
Yet to this god my love stretches,
This god whom I do not believe in is
My whole life, my life and I am his.

Everything that I have of pleasure and pain
(Of pain, of bitter pain and men's contempt)
I give this god for him to feed upon
As he is my whole life and I am his.

When I am dead I hope that he will eat
Everything I have been and have not been
And crunch and feed upon it and grow fat
Eating my life all up as it is his.

- God the Eater - Author: Stevie Smith

#22. Warren could see humans further up the street, that had appeared to be dead, now rising to their feet and swaying drunkenly. One man had a huge chunk of flesh bitten from his face and another from his neck, yet he moved forward even though he appeared to be in enormous pain. Many of the newly changed screamed and contorted their limbs and faces in anguish. They moaned in pain almost continuously. - Author: Joseph M. Chiron

#23. You have compassion but by itself it is not enough. It is almost as if you carry around inside you some dead thing. Some heavy black cinder in your heart that burdens you; a ponderous anchor that tethers you to the past. Until you can burn it away, you can never truly live in the present, in the now. Until you can live in the now, you cannot see things as they really are. Meantime you are a man who is wilfully blind. You have eyes and yet you will not use them. - Author: John Dolan

#24. My name is Nathan, just twenty-three and given to the curation of stories. I listen, retain, then polish and release them over the fire at night, when the others hush and lean forward in their desire to hear of the past. They crave romance, particularly when autumn sets in and cold nights await them, and so I speak of Alice, and Bethany, and Sarah, and Val, and other dead women who all once had lustrous hair and never a bad word on their plump lips. I can remember this is not how they were; I knew them, I knew them! Only six years have passed and yet I mythologize them as if it is six thousand. I am not culpable. Language is changing, like the earth, like the sea. We live in lonely, fateful flux, outnumbered and outgrown. - Author: Aliya Whiteley

#25. Two days of wedded bliss and dead dragons. Any regrets yet?"

"Not a one. - Author: Ruth Ford Elward

#26. I saw her reflection behind me, in the mirror. I was speechless. Somehow I knew I wasn't allowed to turn around - it was against the rules, whatever the rules of the place were - but we could see each other, our eyes could meet in the mirror, and she was just as glad to see me as I was to see her. She was herself. An embodied presence. There was psychic reality to her, there was depth and information. She was between me and whatever place she had stepped from, what landscape beyond. And it was all about the moment when our eyes touched in the glass, surprise and amusement, her beautiful blue eyes with the dark rings around the irises, pale blue eyes with a lot of light in them: hello! Fondness, intelligence, sadness, humor. There was motion and stillness, stillness and modulation, and all the charge and magic of a great painting. Ten seconds, eternity. It was all a circle back to her. You could grasp it in an instant, you could live in it forever: she existed only in the mirror, inside the space of the frame, and though she wasn't alive, not exactly, she wasn't dead either because she wasn't yet born, and yet never not born - as somehow, oddly, neither was I. And I knew that she could tell me anything I wanted to know (life, death, past, future) even though it was already there, in her smile, the answer to all questions - Author: Donna Tartt

#27. . You are overfed yet under-nourished. Your body needs specific nutrients to run properly
or you will get mentally and physically sick. I'm talking about illnesses such as heart
disease, some cancers, diabetes and depression, for starters. So, if you're not eating
the right foods - or your "toxic waste" is inhibiting nutrient absorption - your mind will
constantly "scream" at your stomach to eat more. It does this in the form of cravings
and hunger. Problem is, most people just eat more "nutrient-dead food" and your body
continues to starve and cravings spiral out of control. - Author: Josh Bezoni

#28. Anybody with leisure can do that who is willing to begin where everything ought to be begun
that is, at the beginning. Nothing worth calling good can or ever will be started full grown. The essential of any good is life, and the very body of created life, and essential to it, being its self operant, is growth. The larger start you make, the less room you leave for life to extend itself. You fill with the dead matter of your construction the places where assimilation ought to have its perfect work, building by a life-process, self-extending, and subserving the whole. Small beginnings with slow growings have time to root themselves thoroughly
I do not mean in place nor yet in social regard, but in wisdom. Such even prosper by failures, for their failures are not too great to be rectified without injury to the original idea. - Author: George MacDonald

#29. Punishment of a less immediately physical kind, a certain discretion in the art of inflicting pain, a combination of more subtle, more subdued sufferings, deprived of their visible display, should not all this be treated as a special case, an incidental effect of deeper changes? And yet the fact remains that a few decades saw the disappearance of the tortured, dismembered, amputated body, symbolically branded on face or shoulder, exposed alive or dead to public view. The body as the major target of penal repression disappeared. By - Author: Michel Foucault

#30. This is what I know - Sam is dead. My brother is dead. My mother is dead. My father is dead. My husband is dead. My cat is dead. My dog, who was dead in 1957, is still dead. Yet still I keep thinking that something wonderful is about to happen. Maybe tomorrow. - Author: Patti Smith