The broken heart. You think you will die, but you just keep living, day after day after terrible day. (“Great Expectations”)
It is a far, far, better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far, better rest that I go to than I have ever known. (“A Tale of Two Cities”)
I paint flowers so they will not die.
The stones themselves are thick with history, and those cats that dash through the alleyways must surely be the ghosts of the famous dead in feline disguise.
Swimming is a confusing sport, because sometimes you do it for fun, and other times you do it to not die. And when I’m swimming, sometimes I’m not sure which one it is.
My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.
Each time I help to investigate a medium I hope she may be all that she pretends to be. What wouldn’t I give to be able to talk to my mother.
I do not say that intercommunication between the living and the dead is impossible.
So far I have never on any occasion, in all the seances I have attended, seen anything which would lead me to credit a mediumistic performance with supernatural aid, nor have I seen anything which has convinced me that it is possible to communicate with those who have passed out of this life.
It sounds rather naive, I guess, but the point is that I do believe in something beyond the material. I do believe in this machine we’re in, this body, wouldn’t be the same without the spiritual part of it, whatever that is. And people would say, “Well, that’s the brain and synapses.” Yes, but the […]