Death is contagious; it is contracted the moment we are conceived.
The day of your birth leads you to death as well as to life.
I think nobody owns the land until their dead are in it.
And yet," said Poirot, "suppose an accident-" "Ah, no, my friend-" "From your point of view it would be regrettable, I agree. But nevertheless let us just for one moment suppose it. Then, perhaps, all these here are linked together - by death.
Because each of you has his or her own death, you carry it with you in a secret place from the moment you're born, it belongs to you and you belong to it.
We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future. It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance.
The Westwood Cemetery is just a few blocks from my home, and a number of my very dear friends are buried there.
What a mother sings to the cradle goes all the way down to the coffin.
Maybe she'd seen too many Japanese horror movies, and maybe it was just a tingle of warning from generations of superstitious ancestors, but suddenly she knew that what Alyssa wanted was not to be saved, but for Shane to join her. In death.
I thought of the priest who'd told me that many religions hold that it is easier to be closely connected to people we love after death than before.
They don't see that whole pattern. Worm/death. Worm/death. I would catch on.
I believe that our friends among the dead really mind us and look out for us. Often there might be a big boulder of misery over your path about to fall on you, but your friends among the dead hold it back until you have passed by.
There are only two reasons a non-seer would see a spirit on St. Mark's Eve," Neeve said. "Either you're his true love . . . or you killed him.
