死
The dead are not gone. They are simply not here.
The dead are not silent. They are merely waiting to be heard.
The dead don’t stay where they are buried.
The dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only a change of worlds.
The dead are never far from us. They’re in our hearts and on our minds and in the end all that separates us from them is a single breath, one last puff of air.
The historian must have some kinship with his subject. The dead will not speak unless they are properly addressed.
The dead are visible only in the terrible lidless eyes of memory.
The past is not dead. It is not even past.
"War is just a series of moments when you don't die, strung together by fear and luck."
I think people believe in heaven because they don’t like the idea of dying, because they want to carry on living and they don’t like the idea that other people will move into their house and put their things into the rubbish.
"We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and—in spite of True Romance magazines—we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way."
"The past is not dead. It is not even past."
The dead are always listening. The dead are always watching.
The dead are not powerless. Dead, is not powerless.
The dead are never far from us. They’re in our hearts and on our minds and all around us.
The dead are invisible, but they are not absent.
The past is not dead. It is not even past.
The past is not dead. It is not even past.
"I think people believe in heaven because they don’t like the idea of dying, because they want to carry on living and they don’t like the idea that other people will move into their house and put their things into the rubbish."
I think people believe in heaven because they don’t like the idea of dying, because they want to carry on living and they don’t like the idea that other people will move into their house and put their things into the rubbish.