My life is light, waiting for the death wind, Like a feather on the back of my hand.

My life is light, waiting for the death wind, Like a feather on the back of my hand.

The effect of having other interests beyond those domestic works well. The more one does and sees and feels, the read more

The effect of having other interests beyond those domestic works well. The more one does and sees and feels, the more one is able to do, and the more genuine may be one's appreciation of fundamental things like home, and love, and understanding companionship.

Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there.

Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there.

...the mind is conscious, but conscious of nothing - I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope read more

...the mind is conscious, but conscious of nothing - I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: so the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

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.

Death does not concern us, because as long as we exist, death is not here. And when it does come, read more

Death does not concern us, because as long as we exist, death is not here. And when it does come, we no longer exist.

Death is the only inescapable, unavoidable, sure thing. We are sentenced to die the day we're born.

Death is the only inescapable, unavoidable, sure thing. We are sentenced to die the day we're born.

It is extraordinary how the house and the simplest possessions of someone who has been left become so quickly sordid. read more

It is extraordinary how the house and the simplest possessions of someone who has been left become so quickly sordid. Even the stain on the coffee cup seems not coffee but the physical manifestation of one's inner stain, the fatal blot that from the beginning had marked one for ultimate aloneness.

We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love.

We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love.