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The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.
The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.
He who died at Azan sends
This to comfort all this friends:
Faithful friends! It lies I read more
He who died at Azan sends
This to comfort all this friends:
Faithful friends! It lies I know
Pale and white and cold as snow;
And ye say, "Abdallah's dead!"
Weeping at the feet and head.
I can see your falling tears,
I can hear your sighs and prayers;
Yet I smile and whisper this:
I am not the thing you kiss.
Cease your tears and let it lie;
It was mine--it is not I.
Boy, when you are dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has read more
Boy, when you are dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a god dam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you are dead? Nobody.
If man were immortal he could be perfectly sure of seeing the day when everything in which he had trusted read more
If man were immortal he could be perfectly sure of seeing the day when everything in which he had trusted should betray his trust, and, in short, of coming eventually to hopeless misery. He would break down, at last, as every good fortune, as every dynasty, as every civilization does. In place of this we have death.
Time rushes towards us with its hospital tray of infinitely varied narcotics, even while it is preparing us for its read more
Time rushes towards us with its hospital tray of infinitely varied narcotics, even while it is preparing us for its inevitably fatal operation.
Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable read more
Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life.
How frighteningly few are the persons whose death would spoil our appetite and make the world seem empty.
How frighteningly few are the persons whose death would spoil our appetite and make the world seem empty.
Call no man happy till he is dead.
Call no man happy till he is dead.
