#t

Of course, in a novel, people’s hearts break, and they die, and that is the end of it; and in a story this is very convenient. But in real life we do not die when all that makes life bright dies to us. There is a most busy and important round of eating, drinking, dressing, walking, visiting, buying, selling, talking, reading, and all that makes up what is commonly called living, yet to be gone through… ↗

— Harriet Beecher Stowe

#cabin #death #harriet #stowe #tom

The beef industry has contributed to more American deaths than all the wars of this century, all natural disasters, and all automobile accidents combined. If beef is your idea of "real food for real people" you'd better live real close to a real good hospital. ↗

— Neal D. Barnard

#vegetarianism #death

They say it grows so cold up here in winter that a man’s laughter freezes in his throat and chokes him to death,” Ned said evenly. “Perhaps that is why the Starks have so little humor. ↗

— George R.R. Martin

#death

Life is a disease, brother, and death begins already at birth. Every breath, every heartbeat, is a moment of dying - a little shove toward the end. ↗

— Erich Maria Remarque

#death

Happiness is pretty simple: someone to love, something to do, something to look forward to. ↗

— Rita Mae Brown

#death

Oh, he is cute!” Shane said in a fake girly voice. “Gee, maybe we can ask him out!” “Shut up, you weasel. Claire, hit him! ↗

— Rachel Caine

#eve-rosser #shane-collins #death

A live body and a dead body contain the same number of particles. Structurally, there's no discernible difference. Life and death are unquantifiable abstracts. Why should I be concerned? ↗

— Alan Moore

#life #death

I don't think there is a right or wrong anymore. Only horrible and not-quite-so-horrible. ↗

— James Dashner

#death

Your dreamers. You ridiculous children. You dancing grinning fuckups. Here is your bright future. Your earnest, saccharine hope. How does it taste dripping from the neck of everyone you love? ↗

— Isaac Marion

#future #hope #love #death

In Mongolia, when a dog dies, he is buried high in the hills so people cannot walk on his grave. The dog’s master whispers in the dog’s ear his wishes that the dog will return as a man in his next life. Then his tail is cut off and put beneath his head, and a piece of meat of fat is cut off and placed in his mouth to sustain his soul for its journey; before he is reincarnated, the dog’s soul is freed to travel the land, to run across the high desert plains for as long as it would like. I learned that from a program on the National Geographic Channel, so I believe it is true. Not all dogs return as men, they say; only those who are ready. I am ready. ↗

— Garth Stein

#art