#des

poor boy! I never knew you, Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would save you ↗

— Walt Whitman

#civil-war #compassion #comrade #comradeship #death

Funerals aren't scheduled. ↗

— Benjamin J. Carey

#death #destiny #dying #funerals #life

Love is a kind of symptom that arises through the repression of libido. ↗

— Frank Tallis

#desire #libido #love #psychology #repression

How nice it would be to be dead if only we could know we were dead. That is what I hate, the not being able to turn round in the grave and to say It is over. ↗

— Edward Thomas

#despair #dying #ennui #life #death

Tragedy is born of myth, not morality. Prometheus and Icarus are tragic heroes. Yet none of the myths in which they appear has anything to do with moral dilemmas. Nor have the greatest Greek tragedies. If Euripides is the most tragic of the Greek playwrights, it is not because he deals with moral conflicts but because he understood that reason cannot be the guide of life. ↗

— John Gray

#greek-mythology #morality #socrates #the-death-of-tragedy #tragedy

Before me floats an image, man or shade, Shade more than man, more image than a shade; For Hades' bobbin bound in mummy-cloth May unwind the winding path; A mouth that has no moisture and no breath Breathless mouths may summon; ("Byzantium") ↗

— W.B. Yeats

#ghost #hades #shade #death

Welcome to vampire-ville.” He chuckled. ↗

— S.L. Ross

#destruction #immortal #vampires #werewolves #death

Was that what it was really like to be alive? The feeling of darkness dragging you forward? How could they live with it? And yet they did, and even seemed to find enjoyment in it, when surely the only sensible course would be to despair. Amazing. To feel you were a tiny living thing, sandwiched between two cliffs of darkness. How could they stand to be alive? ↗

— Terry Pratchett

#death #despair #life #death

She turned and walked down the musty, dimly-lighted corridor, along a strip of carpeting that still clung together only out of sheer stubbornness of skeletal weave. Doors, dark, oblivious, inscrutable, sidling by; enough to give you the creeps just to look at them. All hope gone from them, and from those who passed in and out through them. Just one more row of stopped-up orifices in this giant honeycomb that was the city. Human beings shouldn't have to enter such doors, shouldn't have to stay behind them. No moon ever entered there, no stars, no anything at all. They were worse than the grave, for in the grave is absence of consciousness. And God, she reflected, ordered the grave, for all of us; but God didn't order such burrows in a third-class New York City hotel. ↗

— Cornell Woolrich

#death #despair #hopeless #loneliness #death

Their pleasures are fierce and their sleep impenetrable. And they know that the body has a soul in which the soul has no part. ↗

— Albert Camus

#pleasure #soul #death