A cynic is a man who, when he smells flowers, looks around for a coffin or when he sees silver he looks for the cloud it lines. A wise happy person does the exact opposite.
I think that we’re a culture that runs away from death, for good reason. Nobody really wants to think about the fact that we’re going to be lifeless food for worms in a coffin someday. But at the same time, I feel like knowing that you’re going to die can be an incredibly rewarding, powerful knowledge. It inspires us to live in ways that we wouldn’t if we were ignorant. I feel like that has inspired me to care about every breath. For me it’s not a morbid curiosity, it’s just wanting to make sure that every moment I have here on the Earth while I am breathing is accounted for.
A woman I loved [Andi Parhamovich] was killed in Baghdad in January 2007 – al-Qaeda in Iraq took credit for it … The memorial service with me crying over an empty coffin.
The Sound of Building Coffins is a soulful work from a writer of the weird. Maistros does more than make you feel for his characters and their twisted, damaged lives; he makes you *want* to feel.
Czech beer in bottles is the corpse of real beer in a glass coffin.
Armchair hater, I wouldn't piss on your coffin But when I see your picture I draw dicks on it.
He's worse than Dracula because at least Dracula comes out of his coffin now and then. He seems to stay on his line and that's it.
He watched through a crack inside just pretending to be dead he wanted to fix each pallbearer in his memory . . . it seems to me a telephone was installed in the coffin to someone yet again Stalin is sending his instructions.
Care to our coffin adds a nail, no doubt, And every grin so merry draws one out.
I'd like my coffin to be a camera obscura so I can see what's going on outside.
I have made my bed In charnels and on coffins, where black death Keeps record of the trophies won
My earrings are worth just enough to buy me a coffin if I die in a strange place. That was the reason why sailors used to wear them.
I was the girl of the chain letter, the girl full of talk of coffins and keyholes, the one of the telephone bills, the wrinkled photo and the lost connections.
Time has an undertaking establishment on every block and drives his coffin nails faster than the steam riveters rivet or the stenographers type or the tickers tick out fours and eights and dollar signs and ciphers.
I have vocal trouble from time to time associated with sleep or wine! Or from sleeping in a bunk the size of a coffin and breathing in bus air conditioning all day.
As I go about I see a lot of "coffin" men. They have room for themselves and nobody else.
...most of the press were vultures descending on the scene for curious America aplomb. Cameras inside the coffin interviewing worms.
If I let a blue mood run rampant, before I know it I'm obsessing about the color of the satin lining in my coffin - will it match my dress? That's when I feel like Alice in Cancerland falling down the rabbit hole and just have to stop.
I remember eating in school in the years after the Second World War. Most of my friends had miserable portions of Spam with an inedible, glutinous pudding served in containers we called 'coffins.' As a vegetarian, I had a lump of loathsome cheese and some bread.
i remember we all cried like the Missouri when my Uncle Sol's coffin lurched because somebody pressed a button (and down went my uncle Sol and started a worm farm)
Whenever I can’t sleep, I like to lie in the darkness and pretend I’ve been assassinated. I’ve found this is the best way to get comfortable. I imagine I’m in the coffin at my funeral, and people from my past are walking by my corpse and making comments about my demise.
I told her why we are here. I told you wouldn't hurt Jack." "The coffin?" I smiled. I couldn't help it. He was a 'jack in a box.
I should have liked to have had him beside me in a glass coffin, so that I could watch him all the time and he would not have been able to get away from me.
I don't know about you, but I have to sleep. I had a long night and I'm exhausted." She was rather tired, too. But as she slid her gaze to the fake leather sofa, she realized it would never fit both of them. Hunter grinned at her. "You take the couch, I'll sleep on the floor." "Can you do that?" "I've slept in worse places." "Yeah, but don't you need a coffin?
The assumption is that life doesn't need to be navigated with lessons. You can just do it intuitively. After all, you only need to achieve autonomy from your parents, find a moderately satisfying job, form a relationship, perhaps raise some children, watch the onset of mortality in your parents' generation and eventually in your own, until one day a fatal illness starts gnawing at your innards and you calmly go to the grave, shut the coffin and are done with the self-evident business of life.
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