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My daughter is in the building behind me, starving to death.
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My grandmother was a very tough woman. She buried three husbands. Two of them were just napping.
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My life closed twice before its close; / It yet remains to see / If Immortality unveil / A third event to me, / So huge, so hopeless to conceive, / As these that twice befell. / Parting is all we know of heaven, / And all we need of hell.
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My luck is so bad that if I bought a cemetery, people would stop dying.’ Ed Furgol
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My No. 1 reason is to find the truth. What caused the death of my son?
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My only fear of death is coming back reincarnated.
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My own business always bores me to death; I prefer other people’s.
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My sole defense against the natural horror which death inspires is to love beyond it.
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My wallpaper and i are fighting a duel to death. One or the other has to go.
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Nay sure, he’s not in hell! He’s in Arthur’s bosom. if ever man went to Arthur’s bosom. ‘A made a finer end, and went away an it had been any christom child. ‘A parted ev’n just between twelve and one, ev’n at the turning o’ th’ tide. For after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his finger’s end, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and ‘a babbled of green fields. ‘How now, Sir John?’ quoth I. ‘What, man? be o’ good cheer.’ So ‘a cried out ‘God, God, God!’ three of four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him ‘a should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So ‘a bade me lay more clothes at this feet. I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone. Then I felt to his knees, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold as any stone.
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Never chase a lie. Let it alone, and it will run itself to death. I can work out a good character much faster than anyone can lie me out of it.
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Never knock on Death’s door: ring the bell and run away! Death really hates that!
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Never murder a man who is committing suicide.
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No evil is honorable: but death is honorable; therefore death is not evil.
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No man but knows that he must die; he knows that in whatever quarter of the world he abides–whatever be his circumstances–however strong his present hold of life–however unlike the prey of death he looks–that it is his doom beyond reverse to die.
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No matter how many death penalty cases he’s done.
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No matter how much a woman loved a man, it would still give her a glow to see him commit suicide for her.
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No neurotic harbors thoughts of suicide which are not murderous impulses against others redirected upon himself.
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No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow.
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No, I defy all counsel, all redress, But that which ends all counsel, true redress, Death, death. O, amiable, lovely death! Thou odoriferous stench! Sound rottenness! Arise forth from the couch of lasting light, Thou hate and terror to prosperity, And I will kill thy detestable bones, And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows, And ring these fingers with thy household worms, And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, And be a carrion monster like thyself. Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil’st And buss thee as thy wife! Miesery’s love, O, come to me!
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