Do not ask the definition of a friend. HeShe is that one without whose company death and dying set in earlier and living is made more pleasurable.
He could bear the dying, but not the disappointment.
There is no such thing as a happy ending. Every culture has a maxim that makes this point, while nowhere in the Universe is there a single gravestone that reads 'He Loved Everything About His Life, Especially the Dying Bit at the End'.
. . . he thought of dying as a kind of adventure, something new that he hadn't yet experienced. Like an unusual vacation trip.
But dying's part of the wheel, right there next to being born. You can't pick out the pieces you like and leave the rest. Being part of the whole thing, that's the blessing.
If the novel is dying, I see no chance that dismembering it will revive it.
I'm not afraid of life and I'm not afraid of death: Dying's the bore.
Living's heavy work, but off to one side the way we are, it's useless, too. It don't make sense. If I knowed how to climb back on the wheel, I'd do it in a minute. You can't have living without dying. So you can't call it living, what we got. We just are, we just be, like rocks beside the road.
Honey, we all got to go sometime, reason or no reason. Dying's as natural as living. The man who's too afraid to die is too afraid to live.
You have to keep walking, no matter what. If you don't, it's a living death. You're just standing in one place dying.
Got to say, dying would really wreck my best day. Been there, done that, and now that I think about it, Artemis forgot to give me the t-shirt.
It hurts, it hurts. . . Im dying, I'm dying.
All death in nature is birth, and at the moment of death appears visibly the rising of life. There is no dying principle in nature, for nature throughout is unmixed life, which, concealed behind the old, begins again and develops itself. Death as well as birth is simply in itself, in order to present itself ever more brightly and more like to itself.
Dying is the most hellishly boresome experience in the world! Particularly when it entails dying of 'natural causes'.
I care not, a man can die but once; we owe God and death.
Nothing you can lose by dying is half as precious as the readiness to die, which is man's charter of nobility.
I either want to be completely recovered or completely emaciated. It's the in between that I can't stand, the limbo of failure where you know that you haven't done your best at one or the other: dying or living.
In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying.
Here am I, dying of a hundred good symptoms.
Maybe you had to be dying to finally get to do what you wanted. I fidgeted around with the puzzle pieces for a while longer, but I wasn't lucky. Nothing seemed to fit without a whole lot of work. Then I had this thought: What if it was enough to realize that you would die someday, that none of this would go on forever? Would that be enough?