Conscience is no more than the dead speaking to us.
I was asking if unwinding kills you, or if it leaves you alive somehow. C'mon
Imam: [to Irgun] There will be an afterlife for me. Will there be for you?
About once or twice every month I engage in public debates with those whose pressing need it is to woo and to win the approval of supernatural beings. Very often, when I give my view that there is no supernatural dimension, and certainly not one that is only or especially available to the faithful, and that the natural world is wonderful enough
Boss Benta: [in Japanse; subtitled] Boss Tanaka! What is the meaning of this outburst? This is a time for celebration. Boss Tanaka: [in Japanse; subtitled] And what exactly are we celebrating? The perversion of our illustrious council? Boss Honda: [in Japanse; subtitled] Tanaka, have you gone mad? I will not tolerate this! You're disrespecting our sister! Apologize! O-Ren Ishii: [in Japanse; subtitled] Tanaka-san, of what perversion do you speak? Boss Tanaka: My father... [to Benta] Boss Tanaka: along with yours... [to Ozawah] Boss Tanaka: and along with yours, started this council. And while you laugh like stupid donkeys, they weep in the afterlife over the perversion committed today. Boss Ozawah: Outrageous! Tanaka, it is you who insults this council! [Throws rag at him] Boss Ozawah: Bastard! Boss Tanaka: [Throws rag back] Fuck face! O-Ren Ishii: Gentlemen! Tanaka obvious has something on his mind. By all means, allow him to express it. Boss Tanaka: [Last words] I speak, of the perversion done to this council... which I love... more than my own children, by making a Chinese Jap-American half-breed bitch its leader! [O-Ren quickly runs across the table and cuts off his head]
Nor dread nor hope attend A dying animal; A man awaits his end Dreading and hoping all.
The conversation progressed, bumper-car style, to a very heated discussion about death and the survival of the soul. It amazes me that we, as a species, can argue so fervently over something that is, when all is said and done, unknowable and unprovable. Nonetheless, we all arrive at conclusions and cleave to our certainties: that there is nothing but the Void; or that we will find ourselves writing an admissions exam at the Pearly Gates.
I don't like Paradise, As they probably don't have obsessions there.
Tell them stories.
The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in times of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality.
The day after Paul Newman was dead, he was twice as dead.
Memory is the only afterlife I have ever believed in. But the forgetting inside us cannot be stopped. We are programmed to betray.
I have no idea what's awaiting me, or what will happen when this all ends. For the moment I know this: there are sick people and they need curing.
If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.
When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say,
Perhaps when we face our maker, will will not be asked, 'How many positions did you hold,' but rather, 'How many people did you help?
Suddenly I began to find a strange meaning in old fairy-tales; woods, rivers, mountains, became living beings; mysterious life filled the night; with new interests and new expectations I began to dream again of distant travels; and I remembered many extraordinary things that I had heard about old monasteries. Ideas and feelings which had long since ceased to interest me suddenly began to assume significance and interest. A deep meaning and many subtle allegories appeared in what only yesterday had seemed to be naive popular fantasy or crude superstition. And the greatest mystery and the greatest miracle was that the thought became possible that death may not exist, that those who have gone may not have vanished altogether, but exist somewhere and somehow, and that perhaps I may see them again. I have become so accustomed to think
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
If there's hell below, we're all gonna go.
She's had a long life. Now she's going to the Lord.
Sluggish and sedentary peoples, such as the Ancient Egyptians-- with their concept of an afterlife journey through the Field of Reeds-- project on to the next world the journeys they failed to make in this one.
I would love to believe that when I die I will live again, that some thinking, feeling, remembering part of me will continue. But as much as I want to believe that, and despite the ancient and worldwide cultural traditions that assert an afterlife, I know of nothing to suggest that it is more than wishful thinking.
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