Stain Of Death Quotes

It's disgusting to kill, Laila. You never get rid of death's grease. It doesn't wash away. ~ Erri De Luca

I wish it would rain. Torrents. So hard it would cleanse me of worry and trouble; so hard it would lift the stain of death from me and carry it to the rivers and out the sea. ~ Jeff Zentner

I was a witness to lots of death ... Saving a human life was something really, really beautiful ... no matter who they are. Not only Israeli people owe me their lives. I guarantee many terrorists, many Palestinian leaders, owe me their lives - or in other words, they owe my Lord their lives. ~ Mosab Hassan Yousef

Consider the generosity of our Savior: what He acquired by dying becomes ours by eating. As often as we receive this Sacrament with proper dispositions, we make our own the fruits of all the labors, injuries and sufferings of His life, especially those borne at the time of His passion and death. Just as the power and the sensations of the head reach all the members of the body, in the same way, because Christ is "the head of the Church which is His Body" (Eph. 1:23), the treasures of His grace are made abundantly available to all who through charity are one with Him as living members. ~ Louis Of Granada

Death is an asshole. Regardless of illness or circumstance or gut feelings, you are never ready to accept never seeing someone again, to have nothing left but last conversations and memories. You are never ready to be left with how sick somebody looked, or the way they stood up and hugged you despite how dizzy and feverish they were. You are never ready to exist without a person you loved and still need. Death is a constant, but you are never ready…

But while it's scary and awful and exhausting and terrible, it's also comforting to have accepted that death will always be there and will always rip out your heart. It doesn't get easy, and it will find surprising new ways of debilitating you. But what does get simpler is your awareness of it – the reminder that you have gotten through it before, and you will get through it again, and it will never, ever be as bad as it is in the moment you are battling through. It will never hurt the way it did when you found out, and the ache will never be as painful as when you realize those were your last words to them. It won't be as painful forever…

So, no, we can't control death. But we can control how we breathe, how we act, the type of work we do. We can control what we say yes or no to, control who we choose to surround ourselves with, control the way we make the people we love feel. We can decide to be kind, to try our best, and to be honest. Those are the things that outlive us. When we're faced with the harshnes ~ Anne T. Donahue

It is death that is the guide of our life, and our life has no goal but death. ~ Maurice Maeterlinck

The rancid, acerbic smell of burning flesh rasped in the throats of the shocked onlookers, an odour once breathed never forgotten. ~ Stanley Goldyn

Three stupid pieces of chocolate can't mean a lifetime away from the people I love." Tears streamed down my face, and my body trembled. "I don't want to forget what I have here."
"I won't let that happen to you."
"I want it. The candy," I whispered, ashamed to admit it out loud and scared to death because the ache in my stomach was a hunger I'd never felt before. "Even though I know what it is, I can't stop thinking about it. ~ Cherie Colyer

The becoming still can never be the being still; only with the death of becoming is there being. ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti

I dedicate this to all those who did not live to tell it. And may they please forgive me for not having seen it all nor remembered it all, for not having divined all of it - from The Gulag Archipelago ~ Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Nature asserts itself in the face of Spirit which it denies while assuming it; the individual is again found in the collectivity within which he is lost; & each man's death is fulfilled by being cancelled out into the Life of Mankind. ~ Simone De Beauvoir

Forgetting is not forgetting
Forgetting is 'Letting things pass'

When Existence opens up to Essence
And rises above and beyond
The path of Transcendence opens

Love goes beyond Death
The body disappears
The person lives
In Love

And in this Love
Remembrance is born
(Page 91) ~ Neena Verma

I take a swig of booze. "I didn't do it. The surgery." "I heard," he says. "Can I ask why not?" I shrug, not because I don't know but because I don't feel like rehashing his role in my decision. "You know when you're hanging out with people and you have to leave early? Everyone tells you to stay, but you have to go, so you do a round of goodbyes and hugs and everything. Then, you're at the door, and you glance back, and you want everyone to still be staring after you, waving. But they've all already gone back to their conversation. You're not missed at all." I gaze out at the ocean, the endless shifting expanse. "That's what makes me feel sad about dying. That after I'm gone and everyone has said goodbye, life just goes on without me." "You're worried about leaving a legacy?" Cooper asks. "What you'll be remembered for?" "More like, I'll just miss life. Life. I'll miss being a part of it. I'll miss weddings and the ocean and music and champagne. I'll miss the drama and the gossip and the news and New York. I'll just miss it. ~ Georgia Clark

There is something wonderful about a death, how everything shuts down, and all the ways you thought you were vital are not even vaguely important. Your husband can feed the kids, he can work the new oven, he can find the sausages in the fridge, after all. And his important meeting was not important, not in the slightest. And the girls will be picked up from school, and dropped off again in the morning. Your eldest daughter can remember her inhaler, and your youngest will take her gym kit with her, and it is just as you suspected - most of the stuff that you do is just stupid, really stupid, most of the stuff you do is just nagging and whining and picking up for people who are too lazy to love you. ~ Anne Enright

The problem with a lot of people who read only literary fiction is that they assume fantasy is just books about orcs and goblins and dragons and wizards and bullshit. And to be fair, a lot of fantasy is about that stuff.

The problem with people in fantasy is they believe that literary fiction is just stories about a guy drinking tea and staring out the window at the rain while he thinks about his mother. And the truth is a lot of literary fiction is just that. Like, kind of pointless, angsty, emo, masturbatory bullshit.

However, we should not be judged by our lowest common denominators. And also you should not fall prey to the fallacious thinking that literary fiction is literary and all other genres are genre. Literary fiction is a genre, and I will fight to the death anyone who denies this very self-evident truth.

So, is there a lot of fantasy that is raw shit out there? Absolutely, absolutely, it's popcorn reading at best. But you can't deny that a lot of lit fic is also shit. 85% of everything in the world is shit. We judge by the best. And there is some truly excellent fantasy out there. For example, Midsummer Night's Dream; Hamlet with the ghost; Macbeth, ghosts and witches; I'm also fond of the Odyessey; Most of the Pentateuch in the Old Testament, Gargantua and Pantagruel.

Honestly, fantasy existed before lit fic, and if you deny those roots you're pruning yourself so closely that you can't help but wither and die. ~ Patrick Rothfuss

The desire of death will not always lead you to death but the fear of death will. ~ Santosh Kalwar

The marquis de Carabas was not a good man, and he knew himself well enough to be perfectly certain that he was not a brave man. He had long since decided that the world, Above or Below, was a place that wished to be deceived, and, to this end, he had named himself from a lie in a fairy tale, and created himself
his clothes, his manner, his carriage
as a grand joke.
There was a dull pain in his wrists and his feet, and he was finding it harder and harder to breathe. There was nothing more to be gained by feigning unconsciousness, and he raised his head, as best he could, and spat a gob of scarlet blood into Mr. Vandemar's face.
It was a brave thing to do, he thought. And a stupid one. Perhaps they would have let him die quietly, if he had not done that. Now, he had no doubt, they would hurt him more.
And perhaps his death would come the quicker for it. ~ Neil Gaiman

The only way to live is to forget that you're going to die. Death is unimportant. The fear of it should never influence a single action of the wise man. ~ W. Somerset Maugham

A gripper of a read ... Silence revives the cliff's-edge drama of those Jazz age climbs and drives home the tragedy of Mallory's death. ~ Bruce Barcott

I cannot really be open to the call of God in a situation of oppression if the one thing I have excluded as an option is my own suffering and death. ~ Walter Wink

Our Di had, according to her myth, been hounded to death by the baying werewolves of the yellow press. Of course it was now plain I was one. Maybe even the worst of them. Some people claimed they had actually seen me baying. In the tunnel. With the blood of their angel on my hands. ~ Michael Moorcock

I recognized that Christianity had taught me that sacrifice is the way of life. I forgot the neighbor who raped me, but I could see that when theology presents Jesus' death as God's sacrifice of his beloved child for the sake of the world, it teaches that the highest love is sacrifice. To make sacrifice or to be sacrificed is virtuous and redemptive.

But what if this is not true? What if nothing, or very little, is saved? What if the consequence of sacrifice is simply pain, the diminishment of life, fragmentation of the soul, abasement, shame? What if the severing of life is merely destructive of life and is not the path of love, courage, trust, and faith? What if the performance of sacrifice is a ritual in which some human beings bear loss and others are protected from accountability or moral expectations? ~ Rebecca Ann Parker

THIS IS THE CITY, BOY, said Death. WHAT DO YOU THINK? "It's very big," said Mort, uncertainly. "I mean, why does everyone want to live all squeezed together like this?" Death shrugged. I LIKE IT, he said. IT'S FULL OF LIFE. ~ Anonymous

For Death must be somewhere in a society; if it is no longer (or less intensely) in religion, it must be elsewhere; perhaps in this image which produces Death while trying to preserve life. Contemporary with the withdrawal of rites, Photography may correspond to the intrusion, in our modern society, of an asymbolic Death, outside of religion, outside of ritual, a kind of abrupt dive into literal Death. ~ Roland Barthes

The lot of man - to suffer and to die. ~ Alexander Pope

After all, people desire immortality and do not wish to embrace the inescapable reality of death; they long for happiness and shy away from the contemplation of pain; they want to preserve their sense of self, not desconstruction it into fleeting and impersonal components. It is counterintuitive to accept that deathlessness is experienced each moment we are released from the deathlike grip of greed and hatred; that happiness in this world is only possible for those who realized that this world is incapable of providing happiness; that one becomes a fully individuated person only by relinquishing beliefs in an essential self. ~ Stephen Batchelor

Some of the best moments in life are ones where the reality has been twisted out, and for those few beautiful tainted hours, reality has no place. The past, present, and future don't matter because you're in this black hole; escaping the death grip of reality and all the consequences it brings, and sometimes it only takes a small thing to pull you back to reality. ~ Simone Elise

Voodoo Beer?"
"In honor of Loa and Boa for chasing away death." "That was a big snake, wasn't it?""It was a seriously large snake ... ~ Kresley Cole

Nothing is lost, nothing is created all is transformed. Nothing is the prey of death. All is the prey of life. ~ Antoine Bechamp

Danger is what makes life precious. Death is the constant danger of life. ~ Clarice Lispector

The Ancient Egyptians postulated seven souls."

Top soul (Vicarious), and the first to leave at the moment of death, is Ren the Secret name. This corresponds to my Director. He directs the film of your life from conception to death. The Secret Name is the title of your film. When you die, that's where Ren came in.

Second soul (Jambi), and second one off the sinking ship, is Sekem: Energy, Power. LIGHT. The Director gives the orders, Sekem presses the right buttons.

Number three (Wings/Days) is Khu, the Guardian Angel. He, she or it is third man out...depicted as flying away across a full moon, a bird with luminous wings and head of light. The sort of thing you might see on a screen in an Indian restaurant in Panama. The Khu is responsible for the subject and can be injured in his defense - but not permanently, since the first three souls are eternal. They go back to Heaven for another vessel. The four remaining souls must take their chances with the subject in the land of the dead.

Number four (The Pot) is Ba, the Heart, often treacherous. This is a hawk's body with your face on it, shrunk down to the size of a fist. Many a hero has been brought down, like Samson, by a perfidious Ba.

Number five (L.C., Lost Keys, Rosetta Stoned) is Ka, the double, most closely associated with the subject. The Ka, which usually reaches adolescence at the time of bodily death, is the only reliable guide through the Land of the Dead to the We ~ William S. Burroughs

The entire world is made up of only two things, energy and matter. In elementary physics we learn that neither matter nor energy (the only two realities known to man) can be created nor destroyed. Both matter and energy can be transformed, but neither can be destroyed. Life is energy, if it is anything. If neither energy nor matter can be destroyed, of course life cannot be destroyed. Life, like other forms of energy, may be passed through various processes of transition, or change, but it cannot be destroyed. Death is mere transition. If death is not mere change, or transition, then nothing comes after death except a long, eternal, peaceful sleep, and sleep is nothing to be feared. Thus you may wipe out, forever, the fear of Death. ~ Napoleon Hill

The hands pulled him forward regardless. The hands of the Tower knew no mercy.

They were the hands of Gan, the hands of ka, and they knew no mercy.

He smelled alkali, bitter as tears. The desert beyond the door was white; blinding; waterless; without feature save for the faint, cloudy haze of the mountains which sketched themselves on the horizon. The smell beneath the alkali was that of the devil-grass which brought sweet dreams, nightmares, death.

But not for you, gunslinger. Never for you. You darkle. You tinct.

May I be brutally frank? You go on.

And each time you forget the last time. For you, each time is the first time. ~ Stephen King

In the shadow of the rocks my wildness stays awake,
ready to fly at the slightest whisper, at approaching steps...

I have a door to all four winds.
I have a golden door to the east – for love that never comes,
I have a door for day and another for sadness,
I have a door for death – that one is always open. ~ Edith Sodergran

Life is like an endless book. Each day is a new page and only death can bring the end to this little book of yours. ~ Mwanandeke Kindembo

The Poetry that Searches

Poetry that paints a portrait in words,
Poetry that spills the bottled emotions,
Gives life to the feelings deep inside,
Breaks through all the times wept,
To sweep you in a whirling ecstatic delight.

The chiseled marble of language,
The paint spattered canvas,
Where colors flow through words,
Where emotions roll on a canvas,
And it all begins with you.

The canvas that portrays the trembling you,
Through the feelings that splash,
Through the words that spatter,
All over the awaiting canvas.
Such is the painting sketched with passion,
Colored with the heart's unleashed emotions.

The poetry that reads your trembling heart,
The poetry that feeds the seed of your dreams,
That poetry that reveals light within rain,
Takes you to a place where beauty lies in stain.
The poetry that whispers-
"May you find the stars, in a night so dark,
May you find the moon, so rich with silver,
May you sip the madness and delight
In a night berserk with a wailing agony".
Such words that arise from spilling emotions,
So recklessly you fall, in love with life again.

So, you rise shedding your fears,
To chase after your dreams,
As you hear thunder in the rain,
That carries your pain,
Through the painting of words, colored with courage,
Splashed with ferocity, ami ~ Jayita Bhattacharjee

I dreamed of death the way previously I'd dreamed of the pain leaving me, and the way before that I'd dreamed of gardens and children and weekends away. Death was my elusive lover, treasured and longed for and jealously guarded, and always distant. Always out of reach. ~ Elizabeth Haynes

The central question of any execution: do you want the hood on or off? Would you rather see it coming? Or would you rather simply drift away, cocooned in warm darkness, stinking of nothing but yourself? A kind, familiar place to hide in, just before the snap, the crackle? Or the pop? ~ Gemma Files

This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. ~ William Shakespeare

My grandmother's unkindness, for instance, was the result of repressed grief over three deaths: her parents, before she was twelve, and her firstborn child. I don't recall ever seeing her smile. She was critical of everything and everyone. Table manners, posture, diction, wardrobe. My aunt, her mother's staunchest defender, often reminded us that my grandmother suffered from accumulated sorrow, bottled up since childhood and cloaked in intellect and intolerance as she grew older. She was never able to grieve fully or mourn the amassed losses, my aunt had said. If we repress our grief, over time, it's bound to harden the heart. ~ Nancy Cobb

In every hedge and ditch both day and night We fear our death, of every leafe affright. ~ Guillaume De Salluste Du Bartas

Everything tends to make us believe that there exists a certain point of the mind at which life and death, the real and the imagined, past and future, the communicable and the incommunicable, high and low, cease to be perceived as contradictions. ~ Andre Breton

He asked me once what I wanted when I died, what I wanted out of life, and I told him I just wanted more happy memories than sad ones. ~ R. YS Perez