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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.
It's funny how most people love the dead, once you're dead your made for life.
It's funny how most people love the dead, once you're dead your made for life.
The death-change comes.
Death is another life. We bow our heads
At going out, we think, and read more
The death-change comes.
Death is another life. We bow our heads
At going out, we think, and enter straight
Another golden chamber of the king's
Larger than this we leave, and lovelier.
And then in shadowy glimpses, disconnect,
The story, flower-like, closes thus its leaves.
The will of God is all in all. He makes,
Destroys, remakes, for His own pleasure, all.
My situation is a solemn one. Life is offered to me on condition of eating beefsteaks. But death is better read more
My situation is a solemn one. Life is offered to me on condition of eating beefsteaks. But death is better than cannibalism. My will contains directions for my funeral, which will be followed not by mourning coaches, but by oxen, sheep, flocks of poultry, and a small traveling aquarium of live fish, all wearing white scarf's in honor of the man who perished rather than eat his fellow creatures.
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.
Go thou, deceased, to this earth which is a mother, and spacious
and kind. May her touch be soft read more
Go thou, deceased, to this earth which is a mother, and spacious
and kind. May her touch be soft like that of wool, or a young
woman, and may she protect thee from the depths of destruction.
Rise above him, O Earth, do not press painfully on him, give him
good things, give him consolation, as a mother covers her child
with her cloth, cover thou him.
Every man dies - Not every man really lives.
Every man dies - Not every man really lives.
If we don't know life, how can we know death?
If we don't know life, how can we know death?
It is only the dead who do not return.
It is only the dead who do not return.
