My father took one hundred and thirty-two minutes to die.
I counted.
It happened on the Jellicoe Road. The prettiest road I’d ever seen, where trees made breezy canopies like a tunnel to Shangri-La. We were going to the ocean, hundreds of miles away, because I wanted to see the ocean and my father said that it was about time the four of us made that journey. I remember asking, 'What’s the difference between a trip and a journey?' and my father said, 'Narnie, my love, when we get there, you’ll understand,' and that was the last thing he ever said.
Tag: death
Do you realise that people die of boredom in London suburbs? It's the second biggest cause of death amongs the English in general. Sheer boredom...
Alexander McCall SmithTag: death boredom london england suburbia
I think people believe in heaven because they don't like the idea of dying, because they want to carry on living and they don't like the idea that other people will move into their house and put their things into the rubbish.
Mark HaddonTag: death fear-of-death
It was the meanest moment of eternity.
Zora Neale HurstonTag: loss death mourning grief
A small but noteworthy note. I've seen so many young men over the years who think they're running at other young men. They are not. They are running at me.
Markus ZusakDeath is not the end
Death can never be the end.
Death is the road.
Life is the traveller.
The Soul is the Guide
...
Our mind thinks of death.
Our heart thinks of life
Our soul thinks of Immortality
The Little War?
How can there be
a little war?
Are some deaths
smaller than others,
leaving mothers
who weep
a little less?
Tag: war loss death civil-war war-of-independence
A SMALL PIECE OF TRUTH
I do not carry a sickle or scythe.
I only wear a hooded black robe when it's cold.
And I don't have those skull-like facial features you seem to enjoy pinning on me from a distance. You want to know what I truly look like? I'll help you out. Find yourself a mirror while I continue.
Tag: death spoken-from-the-main-character
While he was waiting, leaning on the counter at a coffee place, he remembered the dream he'd had the night before about Antonio Jones, who had been dead for several years now. As before, he asked himself what Jones could have died of, and the one answer that occurred to him was old age. One day, walking down some street in Brooklyn, Antonio Jones had felt tired, sat down on the sidewalk, and a second later stopped existing.
Roberto BolañoBelieve me, when you die, it's everybody else's but your problem
Cecelia AhernTag: death
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