Madam, Life’s a piece in bloom death goes dogging everywhere: She’s the tenant of the room he’s the ruffian on the stair.
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- Life is a series of diminishments. Each cessation of an activity either from choice or some other variety of infirmity is a death, a putting to final rest. Each loss, of friend or precious enemy, can be equated with the closing off of a room containing blocks of nerves and soon after the closing off the nerves atrophy and that part of oneself, in essence, drops away. The self is lightened, is held on earth by a gram less of mass and will.
- We are but tenants and shortly the great landlord will give us notice that our lease has expired.
- I really wanted to die at certain periods in my life. Death was like love, a romantic escape. I took pills because I didn’t want to throw myself off my balcony and know people would photograph me lying dead below.
- As a well-spent day brings happy sleep, so a life well spent brings happy death.
- Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, and yet a third of life is passed in sleep.
- Death not merely ends life, it also bestows upon it a silent completeness, snatched from the hazardous flux to which all things human are subject.