Paris is the only city in the world where starving to death is still considered an art.
No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success. Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world.
Life is not a paragraph, and death is no parenthesis.
It takes two people to make you, and one people to die. That’s how the world is going to end.
It isn’t hard to let people die when their deaths give life to something else.
It is said that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. That is true, it’s called Life.
In the midst of life, we are in death.
If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn’t be filled?
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
How can the dead be truly dead when they still live in the souls of those who are left behind?
Get busy living or get busy dying.
Everybody going to be dead one day, just give them time.
