des ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

“Once I saw large waves
Crested with white-caps;
A driving wind
Transformed the caps
Into scudding spray.
"Swift souls," I addressed them—
They turned towards me
Startled
Sea-descending faces;
But I, not they,
Felt the pang of transience.”
― Jean Toomer

“What is dying anyway? I let this impossible question fill the darkness of my bedroom. I thought about how somebody was always dying somewhere, at any given moment. This isn’t a fable or a joke or an abstract idea. People are always dying. It’s a perfect truth. No matter how we live our lives, we all die sooner or later. In which case, living is really just waiting to die. And if that’s true, why bother living at all? Why was I even alive? I made myself crazy, tossing and turning, hyperventilat- ing. Then it hit me: dying is just like sleeping. You only know you’re sleeping when you wake up the next day, but if morn- ing never comes, you sleep forever. That must be what death is like. When someone dies, they don’t even know they’re dead. Because they never see it happen, nobody ever really dies. This hit me like a sucker punch.”
― Mieko Kawakami, Heaven

“It is strange that I am dying from a diseased womb, I who have never had periods, I who have never known men.”
― Jacqueline Harpman, I Who Have Never Known Men

“People make gods, and, for better or worse, gods make people.”
― Hannah Kaner, Godkiller