We cannot have, but can lose, everything.
It’s comforting to know that you don’t have to be excellent to not be completely forgotten.
That you have just caught success after chasing it for many years does not mean that death will stop chasing you for at least a few seconds.
Some people are each way more hurt by their worst enemy’s success than they were hurt by their then best friend’s death.
Will it take the death of me to finally learn that the things that I describe as success may very well be the death of me?
After a while, you unlearn how to merely survive. You learn to live. To thrive. To breathe. To appreciate the finer “things” in life. All the while realizing you can’t take any of the things with you. Only the energy. The spirit of it all. — You never forget those “things”.
Death, distance, and time, shall each one of them dig graves for your affections; but this you do not know, nor can know, until the story of your life is ended.
We were a religious sect consisting of two people, and now half the congregation was gone. There would be no closure, no healing. I would simply adjust myself to a new and severely depleted reality. The world would come to an end, as it always does, one world at a time.
Everything I have described so far seems to have happened to somebody else—to somebody else’s father. But the death of a parent happens to you, and, once it starts, it never stops. It dislodges everything.
Behind every death lay a set of questions. To move on was to agree to not disturb these questions, to let them settle with the body under the earth. Yet some questions so thoroughly dismantled the terms of your own life, turning away was gravitationally impossible. So she would not be moving on. She would keep disturbing and disturbing. She imagined herself standing over a grave with a shovel and hacking away at the soil.
الموت هو الموجه الأكبر. إننا نحيا كأننا لن نموت أبدا، بيد أنه لتحقيق شيء ما في حياتنا، علينا أن نستحضر دائما في أذهاننا حتمية الموت.
Please, do keep digging your own grave. I look forward to your splendidly inevitable demise.” – Dread Emperor Benevolent the First
Respect your grief. For, if there is a wall within you that needs mending. It will mend it. --- Grief
I -- I alone know how to mourn for him as he deserves.' But while we were still shaking hands, such a look of awful desolation came upon her face that I perceived she was one of those creatures that are not the playthings of Time. For her he had died only yesterday. And, by Jove! the impression was so powerful that for me, too, he seemed to have died only yesterday -- nay, this very minute. I saw her and him in the same instant of time -- his death and her sorrow -- I saw her sorrow in the very moment of his death. Do you understand? I saw them together -- I heard them together.
So we live; a spirit that broods and hovers over the continual death of time, the lost meaning, the unrecaptured moment, the unremembered face, until the final chop that ends all our moments and plunges that spirit back into the void from which it came.
Seems like everything lead up to this day and it's just like every day that's ever been. Sun goin' up and then the sun it goin' down.
How obvious can it be? ... The purpose of makeup is to defy the degradations of time, and time is just a synonym for death.
Time owed an alliance to the undying.
A los mortales os hace falta compañía porque tenéis tristeza, deseos y un tiempo limitado de vida.
Names turned over by time, like the plough turning the soil. Bringing up the new while the old were buried in the mud.
