Isle Of The Dead Quotes

Boatman," she says. "There's a tale I once heard, perhaps as a small child. Of an island full of gentle woods and streams, yet also a place of strange qualities. Many cross to it, yet for each who dwells there, it's as if he walks the island alone... ~ Kazuo Ishiguro

We get sombre about death. Think about Charon the ferryman rowing the souls across the Styx to the Isle of the Dead. Pretty grim stuff. Unless you think that, perhaps, at times, old Charon rows souls back to the land of the living too. Perhaps I have merely gone to rest awhile… ~ Sean J Halford

Yet I feel like Theseus running madly through the coils of the labyrinth with horrors following at my heels and every twist bringing a new and dreaded sight. I dream and it pursues me I am sunk so far in horror heaped upon horror that I cannot taste wine or see the sun above. The world has ended and I don't know why I yet Live ~ Jo Graham

There should be more to writing than entertaining an already-brain-dead society and making money. If not,then you miss the point of writing. ~ Carol Morgan

Felix wasn't sure of his limits, if he had limits. After he'd been dead a while, he began to suspect he could swim to the bottom of the oceans. Beyond that. He suspected that he could swim so far down that he'd eventually go through the center of the earth and come out the other side. He could swim into the clouds, into the stars. Maybe there were ghosts on the other planets. Maybe there were ghosts laughing and splashing each other with the heat of the sun. He wasn't brave enough to find out. ~ Lauren DeStefano

What life is this? Living in a world of hatred and lies, breathing the same air the dead breathed once, knowing we will wake up one day and find ourselves gone from time and space, and yet we still breathe the air without trembling from the thought. ~ Nour Zikra

And she knew he would be back, just as she knew that some of the stars that shone bright in the sky were already dead and that she was beautiful, if only to Jack. And that's just the way it was. ~ Leslye Walton

The chief function of the city is to convert power into form, energy into culture, dead matter into the living symbols of art, biological reproduction into social creativity. ~ Lewis Mumford

She touched him, placing her hand over his curled fingers, straightening them so that they were palm to palm, then she interlaced her fingers with his. Her fingertips were icy. A silent, dangerous thrill coursed through him. He wanted to pull her atop him and show her what awaited a foolish young woman who slipped into a man's bedroom in the dead of the night after having devoured him all evening with those dark, intense eyes of hers, setting his blood to simmer over three long hours. ~ Sherry Thomas

He words we did not shout, the tears unshed, the curse we swallowed,
the phrase we shortened, the love we killed, turned into magnetic iron ore,
into tourmaline, into pyrite agate, blood congealed into cinnabar, blood calcinated, leadened into galena,
oxidized, aluminized, sulphated, calcinated,
the mineral glow of dead meteors and exhausted suns in the forest of dead trees
and dead desires. ~ Anais Nin

Roman Centurion's Song"

LEGATE, I had the news last night - my cohort ordered home
By ships to Portus Itius and thence by road to Rome.
I've marched the companies aboard, the arms are stowed below:
Now let another take my sword. Command me not to go!

I've served in Britain forty years, from Vectis to the Wall,
I have none other home than this, nor any life at all.
Last night I did not understand, but, now the hour draws near
That calls me to my native land, I feel that land is here.

Here where men say my name was made, here where my work was done;
Here where my dearest dead are laid - my wife - my wife and son;
Here where time, custom, grief and toil, age, memory, service, love,
Have rooted me in British soil. Ah, how can I remove?

For me this land, that sea, these airs, those folk and fields suffice.
What purple Southern pomp can match our changeful Northern skies,
Black with December snows unshed or pearled with August haze -
The clanging arch of steel-grey March, or June's long-lighted days?

You'll follow widening Rhodanus till vine and olive lean
Aslant before the sunny breeze that sweeps Nemausus clean
To Arelate's triple gate; but let me linger on,
Here where our stiff-necked British oaks confront Euroclydon!

You'll take the old Aurelian Road through shore-descending pines
Where, blue as any peacock's ne ~ Rudyard Kipling

I hung up the phone after saying good night to Marlboro Man, this isolated cowboy who hadn't had the slightest probably picking up the phone to say "I miss you." I shuddered at the thought of how long I'd gone without it. And judging from the electrical charges searing through every cell of my body, I realized just how fundamental a human need it really is.
It was as fundamental a human need, I would learn, as having a sense of direction in the dark. I suddenly realized I was lost on the long dirt road, more lost than I'd ever been before. The more twists and turns I took in my attempt to find my bearings, the worse my situation became. It was almost midnight, and it was cold, and each intersection looked like the same one repeating over and over. I found myself struck with an illogical and indescribable panic--the kind that causes you to truly believe you'll never, ever escape from where you are, even though you almost always will. As I drove, I remembered every horror movie I'd ever watched that had taken place in a rural setting. Children of the Corn. The children of the corn were lurking out there in the tall grass, I just knew it. Friday the 13th. Sure, it had taken place at a summer camp, but the same thing could happen on a cattle ranch. And The Texas Chain Saw Massacre? Oh no. I was dead. Leatherface was coming--or even worse, his freaky, emaciated, misanthropic brother.
I kept driving for a while, then stopped on the side of the road. Shining my brights on ~ Ree Drummond

I never thought that the music called "jazz" was ever meant to reach just a small group of people, or become a museum thing locked under glass like all the other dead things that were once considered artistic. ~ Miles Davis

The hands on the clock never faulted, not for a second. One day ended; and a new began. If there was one thing on this earth that could be counted on, it was that. Time never paused to mourn the dead. That particular privilege is allotted to the living. It is for the survivor to mourn, bury the dead, and leave the rest to the earth.
That is they way of it – the way of death - and the misery it leaves behind. ~ Patti Roberts

There is no more foul or relentless enemy of man in the occult world than this dead-alive creature spewed up from the grave. ~ Guy Endore

Not much different from the morgue. Smaller," she noted, scanning the steel worktables, the gullies on the sides, the hoses and tubes and tools. "I guess he got some of his knowledge of anatomy working here. Might have had some of his early practice sessions on corpses."
"Charming thought."
"Yeah, well, being as they were already dead - hopefully - it probably didn't upset them too much. Oh, and FYI? When my time comes, I don't want the preservatives and the stylist. You can just build a big fire, slide me in. Then you can throw yourself on the pyre to show your wild grief and constant devotion."
"I'll make a note of it. ~ J.D. Robb

They have to die and their houses should be demolished so that they cannot bear any more terrorists ... are all our enemies and their blood should be on our hands. This also applies to the mothers of the dead terrorists. ~ Ayelet Shaked

NOw he's back from the dead and he's come looking for her. Maybe he wants to get back together." (Isabelle)
"I doubt he sent a horde of demons to her house because he wants to 'get back together.'" (Alec)
"It wouldn't be my move. First the candy, then the apology letters, then the ravenous demon hordes. In that order." (Jace) ~ Cassandra Clare

Dammit that yodel of triumph of yours was the most beautiful thing I ever heard in my life. I wish I'd a had a tape recorder to take it down.'
'Those things aren't made to be heard by the people below,' says Japhy dead serious.
'By God you're right, all those sedentary bums sitting around on pillows hearing the cry of the triumphant mountain smasher, they don't deserve it. But when I looked up and saw you running down that mountain I suddenly understood everything. ~ Jack Kerouac

And I know Blake had a bunch of fucking problems going on the night he was shot. But Mouse here made sure the hired guns were dead before they could hurt him. I don't know if I get to call him a hero, if that's allowed, because I'm a bad man, and he was my friend. But he was a hero to me. ~ Debra Anastasia

Ruthless man: you begin by slaying the animal and then you devour it, as if to slay it twice. It is not enough. You turn against the dead flesh, it revolts you, it must be transformed by fire, boiled and roasted, seasoned and disguised with drugs; you must have butchers, cooks, turnspits, men who will rid the murder of its horrors, who will dress the dead bodies so that the taste decieved by these disguises will not reject what is strange to it, and will feast on corpses, the very sight of which would sicken you. ~ Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Sometimes grace is having the strength to persevere through the storm.
Sometimes it's having the guts to rebuild, to take a chance, to follow your nose and your heart rather than your head.
Sometimes grace is finding out that your preconceived notions are dead wrong.
Sometimes it's being surprised by joy.
Sometimes grace is something you can feel even if you can't see it.
And sometimes it's a bowl of watermelon gazpacho when you were expecting Taco Bell. ~ Cathleen Falsani

If he didn't frighten me, I'd be a bloody fool." Bronn gave a shrug. "Might be I could take him. Dance around him until he was so tired of hacking at me that he couldn't lift his sword. Get him off his feet somehow. When they're flat on their backs it don't matter how tall they are. Even so, it's chancy. One misstep and I'm dead. Why should I risk it? I like you well enough, ugly little whoreson that you are … but if I fight your battle, I lose either way. Either the Mountain spills my guts, or I kill him and lose Stokeworth. I sell my sword, I don't give it away. I'm not your bloody brother. ~ George R.R. Martin

I recommend readers to be adventurous and to try things they've never heard of or considered reading before. Get out of the comfort zone and discover something new and exciting. If you'd never be caught dead in the mystery section go and read some George Pelecanos, Dennis Lehane, Michael Connelly or many others. If you only read thrillers get deep into the literary fiction aisle and let yourself be seduced. If you only read non-fiction pick up a Ian McDonald novel or a Joyce Carol Oates novel. If you only read comic books, get acquainted with the great Charles Dickens or a certain Monsieur Dumas. Pick up something at random and read a page. Feel the texture of the language, the architecture of the imagery, the perfume of the style… There's so much beauty, intelligence and excitement to be had between the pages of the books waiting for you at your local bookstore the only thing you need to bring is an open mind and a sense of adventure. Disregard all prejudices, all pre-conceived notions and all the rubbish some people try to make you think. Think for yourself. Regarding books or anything in life. Think for yourself. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zafon

I was able to do an invisibility spell and get in. There must have been hundreds of Prodigium there. Anyway, that's where Lara made the big announcement that your dad had been murdered by The Eye." He nodded toward Aislinn. "With the help of the Brannicks."
Aislinn swore under her breath, and Mom lowered her head.
"Okay," I said slowly. "Look, I get that that's bad, but can't you just pop up and be like, 'Hey, here I am! Totally not dead!"
"I could," said Dad, "but if it suits the Casnoffs' purposes for me to be deceased, something tells me I wouldn't stay 'totally not dead' for long. ~ Rachel Hawkins

Adara, cease!"

She froze at the sound of a voice she hadn't expected to hear. For a moment she thought she might be dreaming, until she blinked to look up into the most handsome face she'd ever known. She stared at the same blue eyes that made the tenderest of love to her.

Christian.

Her grip went lax and the candlestick in her hand fell to the floor. He was alive!

She threw herself into his arms and held him close as giddy tears replaced her grief-induced ones. At least until her rage took hold again. "Damn you, you worthless, heartless son of a dog!" she snarled, pulling back to strike at his chest. "How dare you make me think you were dead! Don't you ever do such a thing to me again. "

Christian was stunned by her language and actions. "I didn't know you could hear us through the door."

She struck him again on his armor, a blow that no doubt he felt not at all, but it gave her some degree of satisfaction. "Well, think better next time."

Her untoward anger amused him. Wiping the tears from her face, he kissed her tenderly. ~ Kinley MacGregor

Greyson is gone."
A high-pitched ringing started in my ears.
"Dead?" I asked, not at all ashamed at the tiny bit of hope that leaked into my voice.
"No. Escaped. He'll be hunting you."
With that as the option, I liked dead better. ~ Devon Monk

Vengeance for the murdered supposed the dead enjoyed sufficient afterlife to appreciate their efforts. The dead enjoyed nothing of the kind. The dead didn't go anywhere, except, if you were the monster who'd taken their lives and devoured them, into you. ~ Glen Duncan

That's the kind of death that frightens me. The shadow of death slowly, slowly eats away at the region of life, and before you know it everything's dark and you can't see, and the people around you think of you as more dead than alive. ~ Haruki Murakami

What the dead don't know piles up, though we don't notice it at first. They don't know how we're getting along without them, of course, dealing with the hours and days that now accrue so quickly, and, unless they divined this somehow in advance, they don't know that we don't want this inexorable onslaught of breakfasts and phone calls and going to the bank, all this stepping along, because we don't want anything extraneous to get in the way of what we feel about them or the ways we want to hold them in mind. ~ Roger Angell

Wrath walked over to the closet and looked throught the clothes. He took out a black long-sleeved shirt, a pair of leather pants, and
jeez, what was this? Oh, not fucking likely. He was not going to fight in BVDs. He'd go commando before he got cought dead inthose things. ~ J.R. Ward

Sometimes, in the throes of a nightmare when unseen powers whirl one over the roofs of strange dead cities toward the grinning chasm of Nis, it is a relief and even a delight to shriek wildly and throw oneself voluntarily along with the hideous vortex of dream-doom into whatever bottomless gulf may yawn. ~ H.P. Lovecraft

And do I ask, wherefore my heart
Falters, oppressed with unknown needs?
Why some inexplicable smart
All movement of my life impedes?
Alas! in living Nature's stead,
Where God His human creature set,
In smoke and mould the fleshless dead
And bones of beasts surround me yet! ~ Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

My only one!
In your last letter
"My head aches
my heart is stunned!"
you say.
"If they hang you,
if I lose you;"
you say;
"I can't live!"
You'll live my dearest wife,
like a black smoke in the wind my memory will vanish;
you'll live, the red-haired sister of my heart
at most one year it lasts
in the twentieth century
the grief of death..
Death
a dead body swinging on a rope.
My heart doesn't accept
such a death..
But
be sure that, my love,
if some pitiable gypsy's
hairy black spider like hand
slips the rope
around my neck,
to see the fear in my blue eyes
they'll look in vain
at Nâzım!

And I,
in the twilight of my last morning,
shall see my friends and you,
and carry only the grief
of an unfinished song
to the soil...
My wife!
Good hearted,
golden coloured,
with eyes sweeter than honey, my bee;
why did I write you
that they want to hang me,
the trial is in the first step
and they don't pluck like a turnip
the head of a man.
Come, forget them all.
These are so far away probabilities.
If you have some money
buy me a flannel underwear,
my sciatica is acting up.
And don't forget that always
there should be good thoughts in the mind
of a prisoner's wife. ~ Nâzım Hikmet Ran

In my Craft or Sullen Art
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
. On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and palms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages, ~ Dylan Thomas

It's just death and resurrection, over and over again, day after day, as God reaches down into our deepest graves and with the same power that raised Jesus from the dead wrests us from our pride, our apathy, our fear, our prejudice, our anger, our hurt, and our despair. Most days I don't know which is harder for me to believe: that God reanimated the brain functions of a man three days dead, or that God can bring back to life all the beautiful things we have killed. Both seem pretty unlikely to me. ~ Rachel Held Evans

But when you're a kid it's like you're wearing these binoculars strapped to your eyes and you can't see anything except what's in the dead center of the lenses ~ Russell Banks

He found a scene very much as Yale described, although, in his more accomplished hand, the macabre details would be far more graphically rendered: rats had gnawed "wet red galleries" into the bodies of the dead, many of which "were already swollen twice or thrice life-width, their fat heads laughing with black mouth. ... Of others the softer parts were fallen in. A few had burst open, and were liquescent with decay." Venturing deep into ~ Scott Anderson

Do you remember the sight we saw, my soul,
that soft summer morning
round a turning in the path,
the disgusting carcass on a bed scattered with stones,
its legs in the air like a woman in need
burning its wedding poisons
like a fountain with its rhythmic sobs,
I could hear it clearly flowing with a long murmuring sound,
but I touch my body in vain to find the wound.
I am the vampire of my own heart,
one of the great outcasts condemned to eternal laughter
who can no longer smile.
Am I dead?
I must be dead. ~ Charles Baudelaire

Living grows 'round us like a skin
to shut away the desolation
for if we clearly mark the furthest deep
we should be dead long years before the grave

But turning around within
the homely shell of worry, discontent
and narrow joy
we grow and flourish
and rarely see the outside dark
that would confound our eyes

Some break the shell
I think that there are those
who push their fingers through the brittle walls
and make a hole
and through that cruel slit
stare out across the cinders of the world
with naked eyes
They look both in and out
knowing themselves
and too much else beside ~ Molly Drake

The specific patterns, out of which a building or a town is made
may be alive or dead. To the extent they are alive, they let our inner
forces loose, and, set us free; but when they are dead they keep
us locked in inner conflict. ~ Christopher Alexander

Visions of a pitched battle in the docks flashed through my mind. Innocent bystanders torn apart by gunfire and explosions. Children wailing and parents, wild eyed and stunned, stumbling round in search of their lost ones, turning over twisted bodies to gaze into the dead eyes and shredded skin of someone's shattered dream. ~ G.R. Matthews

What a puzzle you are to me, Jander Sunstar! You feed upon lifeblood, yet mourn the life you take. You are a being of shadow and night, yet you yearn to be surrounded by beauty. You are dead, but you cannot bear decay. What exactly are you? You can hardly be a vampire! ~ Christie Golden