Lebih banyak orang menghadapi kematian di atas tempat tidur daripada orang yang mati di atas pesawat. Tetapi kenapa lebih banyak orang yang takut mati ketika menaiki pesawat daripada orang yang takut menaiki tempat tidur. More people can see the face of death while their sleep in their own bed rather than people who can see the face of death while their flying in the plane. But why more people scare to take a plane than people who take a bed.
sleep people death flying face bed
I used to love youI still doSo SelfishI love the old youThe you that didnt shoot drugs.. The you that didnt get beat on by menYou laugh in my face and call me a foolBut its trueI still love youSometimes,I can see the old youWhen your eyes flashWhen you almost look alive
death drugs eyes laugh face alive call beat love
To pursue wisdom is to live in such a way that one is prepared to face death when it comes. (247)
philosophy life wisdom death live harry-potter living-life face
If a man confessed anything on his death bed, it was the truth; for no man could stare death in the face and lie.
man truth death lie face bed
I watch my loved ones weep with sorrow, death's silent torment of no tomorrow. I feel their hearts breaking, I sense their despair, United in misery, the grief that they share. How do I show that, I am not gone.. But the essence of life's everlasting songWhy do they wee? Why do they cry?I'm alive in the wind and I am soaring high. I am sparkling light dancing on streams, a moment of warmth in the fays of sunbeams. The coolness of rain as it falls on your face, the whisper of leaves as wind rushes with haste. Eternal Song, a requiem by Avian of Celieriafrom Crown of Crystal Flame by C.L. Wilson
haste death light moment hearts sense sorrow dancing song essence wind sad despair feel tomorrow cry grief share rain eternal face weep alive misery silent warmth torment crown breaking whisper
I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel; But when I saw thee cold in death,I felt as man should feel. For when I look upon that face, That cold, unheeding, frigid brown, Where neither rage nor fear has place, By Heaven! I cannot hate thee now!
poetry steel haste man death fear heart heaven hate rage breath feel hatred face place cold
He had the face of one who walks in his sleep, and for a wild moment the idea came to me that perhaps he was not normal, not altogether sane. There were people who had trances, I had surely heard of them, and they followed strange laws of which we could know nothing, they obeyed the tangled orders of their own sub-conscious minds. Perhaps he was one of them, and here we were within six feet of death.
sleep idea people death moment wild laws face strange minds normal
My sister, Judy, has always said that she would like to lie in state, propped up in her coffin with her eyes blared wide open, face fixed in a big grin, and have a taped greeting for all her mourners. Something real upbeat and, well, live-sounding, like: 'He-e-e-ey!Cuteshoestellyomamahi!
funny humor death real eyes lie face sister open state big
It would be wrong to refuse to face the fact that everything is fundamentally sick and sad.
death sadness wrong sad sickness face sick fact
Everyone has always said I look like Bailey, but I don't.I have grey eyes to her green, an oval face to her heart-shaped one,I'm shorter, scrawnier, paler, flatter, plainer, tamer. All we shared is a madhouse of curlsthat I imprison in a ponytailwhile she let hers ravelike madnessaround her head.I don't sing in my sleepor eat the petals off flowersor run into the rain instead of out of it.I'm the unplugged-in one, the side-kick sister, tucked into a corner of her shadow. Boys followed her everywhere; they filled the booths at the restaurant where she waitressed, herded around her at the river. One day, I saw a boy come up behind herand pull a strand of her long hairI understood this-I felt the same way. In photographs of us together, she is always looking at the camera, and I am always looking at her.
death family boys day shadow grief eyes rain green river face sister photographs eat sing boy run head jandy-nelson the-sky-is-everywhere
O serpent heart hid with a flowering face!Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave?Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!
poetry villain death shakespeare heart fair beautiful hate saint dragon face lamb
Shinji slowly fell forward onto his face. Debris bounced up on impact. It took less than thirty seconds for the rest of his body to die. The memento of his beloved uncle--the earring worn by the woman he loved--was now stained with the blood running down Shinji's left ear, reflecting the glow from the red flames of the farm building. And so the boy known as the Third Man, Shinji Mimura, was dead.
man death rest body running sad woman blood forward face dead die impact boy red left beloved
Death and destruction are necessary to the health of the world, and therefore as natural, and lovable, as birth and life. Only priests and born cowards moan and weep over dying. Brave men face it with approving nonchalance.
health birth life men death world destruction brave face weep born natural noremorse dying
Sunsets are loved because they vanish. Flowers are loved because they go. The dogs of the field and the cats of the kitchen are loved because soon they must depart. These are not the sole reasons, but at the heart of morning welcomes and afternoon laughters is the promise of farewell. In the gray muzzle of an old dog we see goodbye. In the tired face of an old friend we read long journeys beyond returns.
farewell death heart cats morning promise flowers friend dog dogs journeys goodbye face tired read reasons afternoon sunsets kitchen ray-bradbury
His face set in grim determination, Richard slogged ahead, his fingers reaching up to touch the tooth under his shirt. Loneliness, deeper than he had never known, sagged his shoulders. All his friends were lost to him. He knew now that his life was not his own. It belonged to his duty, to his task. He was the Seeker. Nothing more. Nothing less. Not his own man, but a pawn to be used by others. A tool, same as his sword, to help others, that they might have the life he had only glimpsed for a twinkling. He was no different from the dark things in the boundary. A bringer of death.
life duty man death sword determination friends loneliness dark lost face things touch richard
The candle glimmers but an hour. The nightLooms in its ancient hunger. Would you knowThe tragedy of human love and need?Gaze on the stars, then on a brother's face!
death time human hunger ancient stars tragedy face love
O, that this too too solid flesh would meltThaw and resolve itself into a dew!Or that the Everlasting had not fix'dHis canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world!Fie on't! Ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in naturePossess it merely. That it should come to this!But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my motherThat he might not beteem the winds of heavenVisit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grownBy what it fed on: and yet, within a month--Let me not think on't--Frailty, thy name is woman!--A little month, or ere those shoes were oldWith which she follow'd my poor father's body, Like Niobe, all tears: --why she, even she--O, God! A beast, that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourn'd longer--married with my uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my fatherThan I to Hercules: within a month: Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tearsHad left the flushing in her galled eyes, She married. O, most wicked speed, to postWith such dexterity to incestuous sheets!It is not nor it cannot come to good: But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.
anger discourse speed death body world earth heart heaven reason tears loving break good resolve woman remember king poor grief eyes face dead things beast wicked brother shoes flesh garden appetite seed married left tongue god gross
And here face down beneath the sunAnd here upon earth's noonward heightTo feel the always coming onThe always rising of the night
poetry death poem night poet feel face rising
Birth and death - what could be more monstrous than that? We like to deceive ourselves and call it wondrous and beautiful and majestic, but it's freakish, let's face it.
birth death beautiful face call
How talented was death. How many expressions and manipulations of hand, face, body, no two alike.
death body face corpse hand
Then the voice - which identified itself as the prince of this world, the only being who really knows what happens on Earth - began to show him the people around him on the beach. The wonderful father who was busy packing things up and helping his children put on some warm clothes and who would love to have an affair with his secretary, but was terrified on his wife's response. His wife who would like to work and have her independence, but who was terrified of her husband's response. The children who behave themselves because they were terrified of being punished. The girl who was reading a book all on her own beneath the sunshade, pretending she didn't care, but inside was terrified of spending the rest of her life alone. The boy running around with a tennis racuqet, terrified of having to live up to his parents' expectations. The waiter serving tropical drinks to the rich customers and terrified that he could be sacket at any moment. The young girl who wanted to be a dance, but who was studying law instead because she was terrified of what the neighbours might say. The old man who didn't smoke or drink and said he felt much better for it, when in truth it was the terror of death what whispered in his ears like the wind. The married couple who ran by, splashing through the surf, with a smile on their face but with a terror in their hearts telling them that they would soon be old, boring and useless. The man with the suntan who swept up in his launch in front of everybody and waved and smiled, but was terrified because he could lose all his money from one moment to the next. The hotel owner, watching the whole idyllic scene from his office, trying to keep everyone happy and cheerful, urging his accountants to ever greater vigilance, and terrified because he knew that however honest he was government officials would still find mistakes in his accounts if they wanted to. There was terror in each and every one of the people on that beautiful beach and on that breathtakingly beautiful evening. Terror of being alone, terror of the darkness filling their imaginations with devils, terror of doing anything not in the manuals of good behaviour, terror of God's punishing any mistake, terror of trying and failing, terror of succeeding and having to live with the envy of other people, terror of loving and being rejected, terror of asking for a rise in salary, of accepting an invitation, of going somewhere new, of not being able to speak a foreign language, of not making the right impression, of growing old, of dying, of being pointed out because of one's defects, of not being pointed out because of one's merits, of not being noticed either for one's defects of one's merits.
reading independence mistakes dance life studying money man people work government truth death rest live moment voice language hearts children world earth happy smile loving beautiful good growing running book wind darkness helping wonderful terror envy busy law prince girl care wife expectations serving find lose speak honest pretending face mistake young things boring die behaviour drink father boy beach inside useless dying rich affair married clothes love tennis rise smoke ears evening greater drinks
My father will find you and kill you for what you have done. She said to him solemnly. Maligo towered over her, a leering smile twisting his dark face. You would have to consider yourself lucky if you ever see your father again. Even if it is while he watches me take your life. He snarled, allowing a haughty smirk creep across his face.
life death smile evil dark find face lucky father kill
The moon had risen behind him, the color of a shark's underbelly. It lit the ruined walls, and the skin of his arms and hands, with its sickly light, making him long for a mirror in which to study his face. Surely he'd be able to see the bones beneath the meat; the skull gleaming the way his teeth gleamed when he smiled. After all, wasn't that what a smile said? Hello, world, this is the way I'll look when the wet parts are rotted.
death light world color smile moon study hands bones face skin mirror meat walls teeth arms skull wet
Of all the many people we meet in a lifetime, it is strange that so many of us find ourselves in thrall to one particular person. Once that face is seen, an involuntary heartache sets in for which there is no cure. All the wonder of this world finds shape in that one person and thereafter there is no reprieve, because this kind of love does not end, or not until death.
people death inspirational world kind person end lifetime find face heartache strange cure love
It was almost a mystical experience. I do not know how else to put it. My mind outran time as he neared, and it was as though I had an eternity to ponder the approach of this man who was my brother. His garments were filthy, his face blackened, the stump of his right arm raised, gesturing anywhere. The great beast that he rode was striped, black and red, with a wild red mane and tail. But it really was a horse, and its eyes rolled and there was foam at its mouth and its breathing was painful to hear. I saw then that he wore his blade slung across his back, for its haft protruded high above his right shoulder. Still slowing, eyes fixed upon me, he departed the road, bearing slightly toward my left, jerked the reins once and released them, keeping control of the horse with his knees. His left hand went up in a salute-like movement that passed above his head and seized the hilt of his weapon. It came free without a sound, describing a beautiful arc above him and coming to rest in a lethal position out from his left shoulder and slanting back, like a single wing of dull steel with a minuscule line of edge that gleamed like a filament of mirror. The picture he presented was burned into my mind with a kind of magnificence, a certain splendor that was strangely moving. The blade was a long, scythe like affair that I had seen him use before. Only then we had stood as allies against a mutual foe I had begun to believe unbeatable. Benedict had proved otherwise that night. Now that I saw it raised against me I was overwhelmed with a sense of my own mortality, which I had never experienced before in this fashion. It was as though a layer had been stripped from the world and I had a sudden, full understanding of death itself.
weapon sound mysticism steel man mind death time rest sense experience world kind control eternity beautiful understanding fashion moving road mortality night black wild allies eyes free movement mouth breathing picture face beast brother hand hear single head horse great mirror affair red left dull
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