欧宝娱乐

“The clear awareness of having been born into a losing struggle need not lead one into despair. I do not especially like the idea that one day I shall be tapped on the shoulder and informed, not that the party is over but that it is most assuredly going on—only henceforth in my absence. (It's the second of those thoughts: the edition of the newspaper that will come out on the day after I have gone, that is the more distressing.) Much more horrible, though, would be the announcement that the party was continuing forever, and that I was forbidden to leave. Whether it was a hellishly bad party or a party that was perfectly heavenly in every respect, the moment that it became eternal and compulsory would be the precise moment that it began to pall.”
― Christopher Hitchens, Hitch 22: A Memoir

“In a world spoiled by the obituary of attention and the dormancy of empathy, people are coming up short of authentic emotion. (“The upper lip must never tremble”)”
― Erik Pevernagie

“When they write my obituary. Tomorrow. Or the next day. It will say, Leo Gursky is survived by an apartment full of shit”
― Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

“Read your own obituary notice; they say you live longer. Gives you second wind. New lease of life.”
― James Joyce, Ulysses

“The lions of hard rock, guys like Robert Plant, Roger Daltrey, Brian Johnson, Rob Halford, these monsters feel completely timeless, iconic, eternal. They simply shall not, will not, do not die. It's almost impossible to imagine a musical world without Robert Plant. No metal fan of any stripe can imagine a day when, say, Iron Maiden shuts it all down because Bruce Dickinson turned 85 and suddenly can't remember the lyrics to "Hallowed Be Thy Name." Metal revels in the raw energy and unchecked phantasmagorical ridiculousness of youth. It is all fire and testosterone and rebellious fantasy. It doesn't go well with reality.

So it is for hard rock and a guy like Dio, an elfin titan with an undying love for lasers and sorcery, dragons and kings. The man wrote some terribly corny metal songs, but he sang every one with a ferocity and love and total honesty. He also wrote some of the finest hard rock melodies of all time, sang them with a precision and love unmatched by any hard rock singer since. It's a rare thing to give metal some heartfelt props. It is time. Raise your devil horns and salute.”
― Mark Morford

“I don't care if the New York Times writes an obituary for me. I just want you to write one. ... You say you're not special because the world doesn't know about you, but that's an insult to me. I know about you.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

“As the cleansing ocean closes over bin Laden's carcass, may the earth lie lightly on the countless graves of those he sentenced without compunction to be burned alive or dismembered in the street.”
― Christopher Hitchens, The Enemy

“[José] Saramago for the last 25 years stood his own with any novelist of the Western world [..] He was the equal of Philip Roth, Gunther Grass, Thomas Pynchon and Don DeLillo. His genius was remarkably versatile — he was at once a great comic and a writer of shocking earnestness and grim poignancy. It is hard to believe he will not survive.”
― Harold Bloom

“Yet for quixotic reasons--namely, that I enjoyed writing obits--I had decided to scale back on articles about city life in order to write exclusively about the city's dead. For even less money. It was a strange and inexplicable career move.”
― Avi Steinberg, Running the Books: The Adventures of an Accidental Prison Librarian

“The death of a person is not some number. Everyone's lives must have meaning. What's written here is something you could never feel from the words 'four dead.' It's their breath.”
― Kafka Asagiri, 文豪ストレイドッグス 太宰治と黒の時代 [Bungō Stray Dogs - Dazai Osamu to kuro no jidai]

“Everyone is no-one-to-be.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“This scroll is my personal obituary, a journal that documents my time toiling on this rocky orb. I labored to say who I am, how I lived, and frame the troubling questions regarding what I seek. I wrote in order to penetrate illusions, address the tedium of existence, gain insight into my true nature, and give conscious shape to the vestiges of a tormented man. I used this written journey of the mind to explore all prior reference points of self-identity and toiled to meld the disharmonious components of a fragmented psyche into a wholesome human being. Writing was a tool employed to use conscious suffering mercilessly to suppress a caustic ego and resurrect a more inclusive, synthetic, and unitive consciousness that no longer wants for anything or suffers from the travails of life.”
― Kilroy J. Oldster, Dead Toad Scrolls

“I want to leave behind something worth more than obituary posters when I am gone.”
― Vincent Okay Nwachukwu, Weighty 'n' Worthy African Proverbs - Volume 1

“The world’s best mom,” her son Matthew said. This is what the editors chose to lead with, about a woman whose inventions made satellites possible.”
― Jessica Knoll, The Favorite Sister

“He was everything. The soldier who loved poetry. The historian who loved to paint. The diplomat who thrived on indiscretion. The patriot with international vision. The orderly man given to electric spontaneities.
(on Winston Churchill)”
― William F. Buckley Jr., A Torch Kept Lit: Great Lives of the Twentieth Century

“May our obituaries someday say--preferably after we're dead, of course--that we lived in peace, in love, and mostly in grace”
― jaime jo wright, The Reckoning at Gossamer Pond

“It is a rare blessing to not want to live a second longer than you will live.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“If you cannot display gloominess when announcing obituary, better eat bitter kola with garlic beforehand and beforeleg.”
― Vincent Okay Nwachukwu, Weighty 'n' Worthy African Proverbs - Volume 1

“It is highly un-African to casually puke out obituary announcement to a close relative except the announcer is pricing strangulation or has bought a second coffin for the recipient or himself. It is much better to tactfully preface the issue with preambles and have others present whose presence will prevent stories that touch the heart.”
― Vincent Okay Nwachukwu, Weighty 'n' Worthy African Proverbs - Volume 1

“In a bid to leave behind something worth more than an obituary notice on posters, some dance with death as if their present life is a photocopy only to be disappointed that it is actually the original when faced with a kiss of death.”
― Vincent Okay Nwachukwu, Weighty 'n' Worthy African Proverbs - Volume 1

“Anybody announcing obituary with a smile is liable to suspicion. Whether he is responsible for the death or not; he is irresponsible.”
― Vincent Okay Nwachukwu

“I watch her watch me. I'm so hard my brain can barely function. All my blood is in my dick, and it's so engorged it might explode if she just looks in its direction.

So this is what it feels like to die of horniness. My obituary is going to be embarrassing if anyone bothers writing it.”
― L.J. Shen, Pretty Reckless

“More than half of the obituaries are that of delight.”
― Mantaranjot Mangat, Plotless

“Yellow journalism turns purple when third page obituaries appear on page one.”
― Mantaranjot Mangat, Plotless

“I've tried to deserve the privilege the best I can,' John McCain] said. 'And I've been repaid one thousand times over with adventures and good company, with the satisfaction of serving something more important than myself, of being a bit player in the extraordinary story of America. And I am so grateful.”
― Jonathan Karl, Front Row at the Trump Show

“Andrei rested on a bench directly in front of a grave that belonged to: 'A father, hard worker, and beloved friend.' He leaned back, resting in the cemetery, and with each second, his desire to know more about this man

'Yeah, he’s a father, hard worker, and beloved friend. Weren’t we all at some point? What’s his kink? The worst thing he’s done to a person? The greatest thing he’s good at?' he thought. That’s what Andrei wanted to know. Not titles the man himself would disapprove of. What good was a proper impression in a cemetery filled with thousands of proper impressions? One must be indecent. So Andrei closed his eyes and imagined the father who worked hard and was a beloved friend. Maybe his kink was that he needed to do it in public—in the restroom after a date or at church during mass. Maybe the worst thing he had ever done was work so hard for his family that he never once saw them. Maybe the best thing he was good at was giving gifts to his friends. Yes, that’s it. He never gave money or handed them gift cards, but instead gave his brothers exactly what filled them the most. One year, he gave a notebook to his buddy John with the same line written over and over in painful cursive. The line said: 'Happy Birthday, you get thirteen hours of my life' and repeated until you could see the traces of hand cramps squiggling for life on the forty-second page.

'What a good man,' imagined Andrei. 'Hell of a mate.”
― Karl Kristian Flores, A Happy Ghost

“An Ode to The Occupants of The Titan Sub

In the depths where everything is dark,

Nothing exists and one tends to lose every mark,

Of the reality that lies above,

And the memories of the ones you love,

Appear to float by like voluptuous sirens,

And you think of the benevolent Titans,

Then as the pressure mounts you hear a creaking sound,

Slowly building up inside the hollow chamber where now only fear does abound,

Then as your heart races and it does frantically pound,

You feel you are to an unknown and impending doom bound,

And you summon all your Gods in the form of your fears,

And you gauge the ferocity of all the snares,

Building from above, bottom, left and right,

It is then you hold your equally fearful companion’s hand tight,

And you remember all that you loved and those you still love,

But they are far up and above, and you are here in the abyss now,

Where darkness spreads endlessly and the creaking sound becomes louder,

And all of a sudden you feel you are hit by a titanic sized aqueous boulder,

Everything implodes, but only your heart and your memories explode,

As they surface on the horizon of perception and your loved ones rush to the abode,

Of the Gods where castles of prayers are erected,

Prayers rising from the heart that gods have not defected,

There they rush, and implore,

But the Titans become quieter and they think Gods too ignore,

The cries of the lamenting and remorseful heart,

But little do they know praying is not an art,

It is a feeling sublime and serene that arises from within,

And when expressed with sincerity in the universe its resonance does deepen,

And then Gods respond with care,

And they always say, “darling, there is nothing to fear.”

This sounds assuaging for many reasons, known and unknown,

And your kin and kith experience the familiarity in these consolations offered by the unknown,

And to the five departed adventurers of the deep sea,

I hope in their Heavenward journey, now they shall new wonders see,

And be the part of a greater adventure,

That I call the God’s enterprising venture,

As for the wonder of the abyss,

There shall always be someone who for its thrill would miss,

Anything and everything else,

Because if he/she doesn't, then he/she will be someone else,

That is why they dare to take on the Gods of the dark and deep,

Because human passion is something that into the soul does seep,

And unless tasted and confronted, this adventurer residing within the soul does not let him/her to sleep,

So let me wish the 5 adventurers all the best on their new journey,

Where there is no need for submersibles for in that world one attains natural buoyancy, and this too is one hell of a journey!

As for those woe struck loved ones still residing in the realm of gravity,

I hope they find assuaging moments in their thoughtful proclivity,

Where they notice the universe flowing through their departed and loved one,

Because every adventure is an expression of belief in love for someone,

That someone who does not fear the abyss,

That someone who dares to be the one, and never miss,

The adventures that await him/her in those unknown realms,

Where even the Titans sometimes bear signs of qualms,

There let us go and seek the knowledge that awaits to reveal itself,

Only if the adventurer believes in himself/herself,

And I think that is where all 5 adventurers can always be found,

In the realm of the Titans where knowledge does abound, where knowledge does abound!”
― Javid Ahmad Tak, They Loved in 2075!

“An autobiography is an obituary in serial form with the last instalment missing.”
― Quentin Crisp, The Naked Civil Servant

“I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with a lot of pleasure.”
― Clarence Darrow

“The obituary seemed like a washing of the body. It cleaned Steen up. The existence of the photographs, all the sordid aspects of the man's life were rinsed away by the formalised prose. The Western ritual of death was observed — the obligation to remember the most dignified image of the deceased. Like those ghastly American mausoleums where the embalmed corpse is presented at its best, dressed and smiling, prior to burial.”
― Simon Brett, Cast, in Order of Disappearance