So I write mainly for the fun of it, the hell of it, the duty of it. I enjoy writing and will probably be a scribbler on my dying day, sprawled on some stony trail halfway between two dry waterholes.
Why, in our "free" country, do Americans meekly stand aside and let the state limit our choices, even when we are dying?
The stars begin to fade like guttering candles and are snuffed out one by one. Out in the depths of space the great celestial cities, the galaxies cluttered with the memorabilia of ages, are gradually dying. Tens of billions of years pass in the growing darkness ... of a universe condemned to become a galactic graveyard.
One of the very important things that have to be learned around the time dying becomes a real prospect is to recognize those occasions when we have been useful in the world.
Death, the real simile for disease - for when we are ill, do we not always feel like we are dying, even if it's only a little? - remains, despite our secularism, the most metaphoricised phenomenon of all.
My mother, who was radiant, young, and beautiful even as she lay dying, heard voices and saw visions, but she always managed to make friends with them and was much too charming to hospitalize even at her craziest.
Death doesn't frighten me.
Oh you who have been removed from God in his solitude by the abyss of time, how can you expect to reach him without dying?
I hate funerals and would not attend my own if it could be avoided, but it is well for every man to stop once in a while to think of what sort of a collection of mourners he is training for his final event.
I know too that we Americans like to think of ourselves as cleaner than clean, a healthy nation who would never take anything when a recent poll suggested that 65 per cent of the population would risk dying in 10 years if they would be guaranteed Olympic gold.
And what unity is to be had, at a time when orchestras are dying out, and when opera houses are about to close their doors; what's going to come next - when nothing new in music, for the orchestra, is truly lasting: pieces are performed once, and then they're thrown away.
My mother begged doctors to end her life. She was beyond the physical ability to swallow enough of the weak morphine pills she had around her. When she knew she was dying I promised to make sure she could go at a time of her choosing, but it was impossible. I couldn't help.
Don't surrender to the dying light; don't take it lying down.
Male privilege and entitlement are dying a very painful death; no one gives up power without a struggle.
Having been an oncologist and having cared for scores, if not hundreds, of dying patients, when you don't have a treatment that can shrink the tumor and the patient will die, it's a very difficult conversation. It's emotionally draining.
One thing I am really dying to do, while I'm still young and in shape, is an action movie. I would love to do a Lara Croft type of thing that's really physical and tough. I want to have a gun and do martial arts. I would love to get paid to get into the best shape of my life.
I'm not a big fan of talking about dying. And then I make a movie where I kill everybody.
If it's peace you find in dying, well then let the time be near.
Elvis a fight the dying light, Johnny Ray he's always crying.
There I lay staring upward, while the stars wheeled over... Faint to my ears came the gathered rumor of all lands: the springing and the dying, the song and the weeping, and the slow everlasting groan of overburdened stone.
Love is like a dying ember, only memories remain.
So the experience of death is turned into that of the exchange of functionaries, and anything in the natural relationship to death that is not wholly absorbed into the social one is turned over to hygiene. In being seen as no more than the exit of a living creature from the social combine, death has been domesticated: dying merely confirms the absolute irrelevance of the natural organism in face of the social absolute.
I will do my duty no matter what the price, I've counted up the cost, I know the sacrifice. Oh, and I don't want to die for you, but if dying is asked of me, I'll bear that cross of honor cause freedom don't come free.
My final historical romance came out December 2005. While I enjoyed writing medieval romances, I was also dying to write something with more edge.
I felt good full figured. Morbidly obese I was unhealthy and dying.
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