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Death And Dying Quotes

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Death And Dying Quotes

“She was foolish to be walking alone at this ungodly hour when demi-gods like himself roamed in search of prey. He would pick this flower, uproot her from the soil. He would part her from her source of life. Her head, hands, and feet were the soft petals, her blood the sweet nectar. She walked by him, ignorant of the brutality that would soon befall her.”

“Thoughts On My End by Stewart Stafford My last moments slip away, On which day, at what time? Snow chilling bones faster? Sweat in blinding sunshine? Halloween, Xmas or Easter? Evening or just after dawn? Pass away on my birthday? Gifts, mass cards all drawn? Will it be in long, slow agony? Or mercifully fast and painless? What will my drug of choice be? Will I be conscious or brainless? Who will be at my bedside? Many or no one, who can say? Kind words or total silence? I’ll hear and be on my way. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

“At 23, I took the example Of Moses and Jesus And went 40 days without food. In the end, Moses saw his god's glory, Jesus overcame the devil, I got a divorce. Living in a black and white world, Resembling a silent movie, I'd fasted over 120 days that year And it ended in the death of something. Moses wandered a desert, Jesus was crucified. Buddhists call it Samsara, The circle of life and death. We all go through it over and over In our lifetime. I've learned not to cling To the Mountain of Transfiguration Or the Valley of Death. Our life is filled with both and they are needed. At 33, I've learned it's best to receive life As It comes, let go of how you think it will go. Rumi said to die before you die. If you follow his advice, you will live your life alive, And when death comes you will recognize him As someone you've walked with before.”

“Have you ever wondered why we bury and cremate our dead? Nothing to do with hygiene, it’s just so we don’t have to see the reality of death. You know, the Zoroastrians used to leave their dead in open places for the birds to eat. Now that’s a far more honest way to go, don’t you agree? Everyone can see what happens. It makes us live our lives more potently. That’s how I want to go, at my end: openly. Not ashamed of death, but embracing it.”

“I'd always written how grief was hollow. How it was a vast cavern of nothing. But I was wrong. Grief was the exact opposite. It was full and heavy and drowning because it wasn't the absence of everything you lost - it was the combination of it all, your love, your happiness, your bittersweets, wound tight like a knotted ball of yarn. - Florence Day”

“I can almost understand why people leap from bridges, Why they stand there, hearts heavy with fissures. In a world that screams and shouts, Yet never hears the whispers of despair that drown out. The weight of silence is a killer, A noose that tightens, makes the soul a thriller. On the edge, they see it all: The shattered dreams, the pain that stands so tall. What’s it like to feel so hollow, To search for hope in darkness, but only find sorrow? They look down at the water, reflecting a void, Each ripple a reminder of joy that’s been destroyed. In that split second, freedom feels so close, But the leap isn’t freedom, it’s an escape from the ghosts. A flight from the struggle, the hurt that won’t cease, A heart breaking open, longing for release. But oh, the stories left unsaid, The cries that echo in a mind full of dread. So many standing on that edge, feeling alone, Wishing for a bridge to carry them home.”

“The Unanswered Question by Stewart Stafford Ask a body why it lies in a grave, And no answer shall ring in your ears, Ask the rat that squeaks like a knave, And there is nothing to ease your fears. See lightning's fiery eye wink a hint, Hear thunder belching out proud, Hail is flicked off like lint, Dumb as a corpse in its shroud. Mourners do splutter and cry, In unison or solitary grief, Hysteria governs their reply, Tongues pocketed by sorrow's thief. Only when you lay in dirt senselessly, Do answers come out of reach, Secrets clouded eternally, To an owl's shrill and wise screech. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

“There is absolutely no worse death curse than the humdrum daily existence of the living dead.”

“Sometimes it took death for me to see life, don't live with regrets keep your head high. In a world filled with beauty I don't want to blink twice; soak up every moment because you can't stop time.”

“There are innumerable unanswerable questions that plague humankind. It is permissible to accept the unknown and unknowable as establishing the outer limits of human possibilities. Unanswerable questions – questions with no provable correct answers – describe the boundaries of human existence. All we know for sure is that everything that is alive will die.”

“As I witness the dead of beloved ones, it makes be become more conscious that life indeed has an end.”

“The Art of Becoming Who I'm Not I've mastered the art of mimicry, Bending and twisting, so you'd see The person you want, not who I am, A reflection caught in someone else’s plan. I wear the masks you’ve tailored tight, Changing my colours in your light. But the weight of this act has grown too vast— I’ve lost myself in shadows cast. You think you know me, but it's a lie, A crafted version built to satisfy. I shape-shift, I mold, I rearrange, A puzzle of fragments that feel so strange. In your eyes, I’m whole, I’m sound, Yet inside, I’m nowhere to be found. A chameleon lost in its own disguise, Drowning beneath layers of compromise. Who am I when the curtains fall? A hollow echo, nothing at all. An actor lost in endless roles, Pieces scattered, shattered souls. So if you think you know my face, Remember, it’s just another place Where I’ve hidden, tried to belong— But this pretence has gone on too long. I’ve forgotten who I used to be, Caught in the trap of who you see.”

“Since the dawn of existence, you mortals have feared dying, feared the unknown and the pain of it, and yet, pain is a part of life, not death. And I—I am the first moment after pain ceases,” he [Death] pronounced. “It is life that fights and struggles and rages; life, that tears at you in its last agonizing throes to hold on, even if but for one futile instant longer... Whereas I, I come softly when it is all done. Pain and death are an ordered sequence, not a parallel pair. So easy to confuse the correlations, not realizing that one does not bring the other.”

“For years afterward, I had dreams in which my mother appeared in strange forms, her features sewn onto other beings in combinations that seemed both grotesque and profound: as a slippery white fish at the end of my hook, with a trout’s gaping, sorrowful mouth and her dark, shuttered eyes; as the elm tree at the edge of our property, its ragged clumps of tarnished gold leaves replaced by knotted skeins of her black hair; as the lame gray dog that lived on the Mueller’s property, whose mouth, her mouth, opened and closed in yearning and who never made a sound. As I grew older, I came to realize that death had been easy for my mother; to fear death, you must first have something to tether you to life. But she had not. It was as if she had been preparing for her death the entire time I knew her. One day she was alive; the next, not. And as Sybil said, she was lucky. For what more could we presume to ask from death — but kindness?”

“Death is the great equalizer of human beings. Death is the boundary that we need to measure the precious texture of our lives. All people owe a death. There is no use vexing about inevitable degeneration and death because far greater people than me succumbed to death’s endless sleep without living as many years as me.”