Each heart is a pilgrim,
each one wants to know
the reason why the winds die
and where the stories go.
Imagine being sentient but not alive. Seeing and even knowing, but not alive. Just looking out. Recognizing but not being alive. A person can die and still go on. Sometimes what looks out at you from a person's eyes maybe died back in childhood.
Always knowing you're going to die
And until then knowing you've got to live.
"I really was sick. I swear. I almost died back there on the ship, you know."
"I know. Every time you almost die, I almost die myself."
… I have said for twenty-five or thirty years that the one thing I would really like to know before I die is why the monster group exists.
…everyone knows they're going to die, but no one really believes it.
And shall the Schoolmen die?
And shall the Schoolmen die?
Five hundred men of Lilliput
Will know the reason why.
His last hours alive. But he didn’t know!
None of us will know, of course. The weird grammar of death. You die, he or she dies, they die, but there is no genuine form for I”. Not really. All know that, none know when.
You don't know how to live until you learn how to die.
Most people would trade everything they know, everyone they know — they'd trade it all to know they've been seen, and acknowledged, that they might even be remembered/ We all know we die. We all know the world is too big for us to be significant. So all we have is the hope of beign seen, or heard, even for a moment.