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Dead Quotes

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Dead Quotes

“نحن نهرب من الموت على أمل النجاة، وقد نصادف الموت في طريقنا للهرب منه، لن يكون ذلك بمثابة تغيّر كبير بالنسبة إلينا. نحن أموات على قيد الحياة، وقد ننجو نحيا، أو نموت حقاً، وكلا الأمرين أفضل من الموت في الحياة.”

“People who maximize their potentials don’t even die; they live forever as long as this earth remains. They don’t die in the real sense because they still live after their death. They live in their products, they live in their legacies. In other words, because their products, their impact, and legacies still live on even after they are dead; they don’t actually die in the real sense.”

“Leslie-Ann set down her own bucket and watched, marveling, as a quarter of an inch of water covered the bottom. When she looked away, she saw an older kid. She’d seen him around. But usually he was with Orc and she was too scared of Orc ever to get near him. She tugged on Howard’s wet sleeve. He seemed not to be sharing in the general glee. His face was severe and sad. “What?” he asked wearily. “I know something.” “Well, goody for you.” “It’s about Albert.” Howard sighed. “I heard. He’s dead. Orc’s gone and Albert’s dead and these idiots are partying like it’s Mardi Gras or something.” “I think he might not be dead,” Leslie-Ann said. Howard shook his head, angry at being distracted. He walked away. But then he stopped, turned, and walked back to her. “I know you,” he said. “You clean Albert’s house.” “Yes. I’m Leslie-Ann.” “What are you telling me about Albert?” “I saw his eyes open. And he looked at me.”

“Take it easy, friend," siad Peter, regaining his balance, quickly understanding the condition Henry was in. "Friend? You left us. In the caves." Henry's muscles tensed. Peter stepped back cautiously. Henry didn't look like himself. "Seems someone can't hold his drink," Peter said. He didn't go further, sensing then that Valerie might be thinking of her father. "And now," Henry continued on his own track, stepping closer to meet him, the smell of alcohol on his breath, "my father, too is dead." Valerie moved to Henry. "Please, don't do this," she said, stepping in. "It's not worth it." Henry pushed past her, not realizing his own weight. The force knocked her back. Peter grabbed Henry's arm and twisted it. Overreacting, Henry reared back his fist and landed a punch in the hollow of Peter's eye. The crowd laughed as Peter fell hard to the ground. Henry scrambled on top him, held him by the collar, forced Peter to face him as he'd never done. He looked into the eyes of the man he wanted to blame for his parents' deaths, because it was a shelter from the terrible thought that everything could be lost to a simple slip of fate. "You filth," he spat out. This really got the villagers going. But Peter didn't laugh. He pulled a knife from his boot and leapt up, thrusting it viciously in Henry's face. "Keep your hands off her or I'll cut them off!”

“I woke up dead. Not only dead...but in hell. I had always been somewhat sketchy on what the afterlife - were there actually such a thing - would be like for a person such as I. From all accounts and all my imaginings, I figured it would be one of two things. Either I would be surrounded by great, burning masses that were endlessly immolating souls in torment... or else I would find myself trapped within my own mind as a helpless bystander, condemned to watching me live out my life over and over again and powerless to do anything to change any of it. When idle speculation prompted me to dwell on these two options, I would find myself drawn invariably to the former, since the later was just too hideous to contemplate. ... I was almost afraid to open my eyes, because once I did, I would know one way or the other. Perhaps I could have just lain there forever. Perhaps I was supposed to. Perhaps that was my true condemnation: to simply reside in hell with my eyes closed afraid of opening them lest matters deteriorate even further than they already had. This, in turn, made me dwell on the fact that every time I had believed things couldn’t get worse, they promptly had done so with almost gleeful enthusiasm .”

“The living has a great hope, we have life to bounce back from any difficulty. The dead had no hope.”

“Akili yangu itakaponipeleka kwa mgonjwa hospitalini halafu sekunde hiyohiyo jicho langu likacheza au kiungo changu chochote cha mwili kikauma na kuacha ghafla ‘bila’ sababu yoyote, najua kile ninachokifikiria kuhusu mgonjwa huyo ama kitatokea au hakitatokea. Nikifikiria amepona, halafu ghafla kichwa kikaniuma na kuacha, kitakuwa kinyume chake. Yaani, hatapona. Nikifikiria amekufa, halafu ghafla kichwa au kiungo kingine chochote kikaniuma na kuacha, kitakuwa kinyume chake pia. Yaani, hatakufa. Hivyo, nikifikiria amepona, nikifikiria amekufa, na kichwa kikaniuma na kuacha, sekunde hiyohiyo natakiwa kumwombea mgonjwa huyo. Kama ni kupona, apone kama Mungu alivyokusudia; na kama ni kufa, afe kama Mungu alivyokusudia. Si kama Shetani alivyokusudia.”

“We all have so many functions, so many ways of existing. In my own vision of myself, I am a scholar who lives quietly, and pens his little tales, and dreams about a past that may or may not have existed. And that is true, as far as it goes. But I am also, in one of my capacities, like so many of the people you have chosen to associate with, a psychopomp. I escort the living to the world of the dead.”

“I stood up there for two solid minutes without saying another word. There wasn't one great thing I could say about that man--so I just stared silently at the crowd until my mother realized what I was doing and had my uncle remove me from the podium." Ryle tilts his head. "Are you kidding me? You gave the anti-eulogy at your own father's funeral?" I nod. "I'm not proud of it. I don't think. I mean, if I had my way, he would have been a much better person and I would have stood up there and talked for an hour." Ryle lies back down. "Wow," he says, shaking his head. "You're kind of my hero. You just roasted a dead guy.”

“Not everyone believes in ghost’s, but I do. Do you know what they are, Trisha?“ She had shaken her head slowly. "Men and women who can’t get over the past,” Aunt Evie said. “That’s what ghost’s are. Not them.” She flapped her arm toward the coffin which stood on its bands beside the coincidentally fresh grave. “The dead are dead. We bury them, and buried they stay.”

“Some people each left their spouse or lover because he or she was no longer the primary source of their happiness; some, because their spouse or lover was, at that time, the primary source of their unhappiness.”