Beauty; the death, then, of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
You could go anytime. And that had been on his mind this week, not in a heavy way but as a fact. Dying was a part of living. You had to keep tuning in to that if you expected to be a whole person. And if the fact of your own death was hard to understand, at least it wasn’t impossible to accept.
You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.
You are willing to die, you coward, but not to live.
When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground.
When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.
When good Americans die they go to Paris.
To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.
To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
This country is being managed to death, being public related to death.
They want us dead. So we have to stay alive.
These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume.
