#short

It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives. The act of dying is not of importance, it lasts so short a time. ↗

— Samuel Johnson

#dies #dying #how #importance #lasts

They call me the Angel of Death. ↗

— Moira Young

#death

Perhaps in death one can find redemption. Kameron wonders who he refers to more in his thoughts – the others or himself. It is a question even he can’t answer. ↗

— Annalise Grey

#death

My only regret about being gay is that I repressed it for so long. I surrendered my youth to the people I feared when I could have been out there loving someone. Don't make that mistake yourself. Life's too damn short. ↗

— Armistead Maupin

#been #being #could #damn #feared

Writing is flying in dreams. When you remember. When you can. When it works. It's that easy. ↗

— Neil Gaiman

#short #dreams

It is a happiness to wonder; -- it is a happiness to dream. ↗

— Edgar Allan Poe

#happiness #morella #short-story #wonder #dreams

she should have told me that times slides away on a hillside of lose shale and takes everything in its path-dreams, opportunities, hopes. And youth. It takes that fastest of all. ↗

— Kristin Hannah

#short-story #dreams

One day or one night—between my days and nights, what difference can there be?—I dreamed that there was a grain of sand on the floor of my cell. Unconcerned, I went back to sleep; I dreamed that I woke up and there were two grains of sand. Again I slept; I dreamed that now there were three. Thus the grains of sand multiplied, little by little, until they filled the cell and I was dying beneath that hemisphere of sand. I realized that I was dreaming; with a vast effort I woke myself. But waking up was useless—I was suffocated by the countless sand. Someone said to me: You have wakened not out of sleep, but into a prior dream, and that dream lies within another, and so on, to infinity, which is the number of the grains of sand. The path that you are to take is endless, and you will die before you have truly awakened. I felt lost. The sand crushed my mouth, but I cried out: I cannot be killed by sand that I dream —nor is there any such thing as a dream within a dream. — Jorge Luis Borges, The Writing of the God ↗

— Jorge Luis Borges

#dream #dreaming #inception #jorge-luis-borges #la-escritura-del-dios

And that's the bottom layer in old boxes: melancholy, an indefinable sense of loss. You dig around and it comes swirling up to the top ↗

— John Ajvide Lindqvist

#dreams

I have short-term memory loss. I know that some of the memories of the Super Bowl championships are fading. ↗

— Pat Bowlen

#championships #fading #i #know #loss