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“Trust me no matter how horrible you feel or how bad things seem, there is always a way out. Suicide is never your only option.”
― Suicide Notes
― Suicide Notes
“A follow-up letter is best when not written on the back of a suicide note. Remember this next time you’re at a networking event, unless your new connection is a mortician.”
― This Book is Not for Sale
― This Book is Not for Sale
“Joy in the Woods
There is joy in the woods just now,
The leaves are whispers of song,
And the birds make mirth on the bough
And music the whole day long,
And God! to dwell in the town
In these springlike summer days,
On my brow an unfading frown
And hate in my heart always—
A machine out of gear, aye, tired,
Yet forced to go on—for I’m hired.
Just forced to go on through fear,
For every day I must eat
And find ugly clothes to wear,
And bad shoes to hurt my feet
And a shelter for work-drugged sleep!
A mere drudge! but what can one do?
A man that’s a man cannot weep!
Suicide? A quitter? Oh, no!
But a slave should never grow tired,
Whom the masters have kindly hired.
But oh! for the woods, the flowers
Of natural, sweet perfume,
The heartening, summer showers
And the smiling shrubs in bloom,
Dust-free, dew-tinted at morn,
The fresh and life-giving air,
The billowing waves of corn
And the birds’ notes rich and clear:—
For a man-machine toil-tired
May crave beauty too—though he’s hired.”
―
There is joy in the woods just now,
The leaves are whispers of song,
And the birds make mirth on the bough
And music the whole day long,
And God! to dwell in the town
In these springlike summer days,
On my brow an unfading frown
And hate in my heart always—
A machine out of gear, aye, tired,
Yet forced to go on—for I’m hired.
Just forced to go on through fear,
For every day I must eat
And find ugly clothes to wear,
And bad shoes to hurt my feet
And a shelter for work-drugged sleep!
A mere drudge! but what can one do?
A man that’s a man cannot weep!
Suicide? A quitter? Oh, no!
But a slave should never grow tired,
Whom the masters have kindly hired.
But oh! for the woods, the flowers
Of natural, sweet perfume,
The heartening, summer showers
And the smiling shrubs in bloom,
Dust-free, dew-tinted at morn,
The fresh and life-giving air,
The billowing waves of corn
And the birds’ notes rich and clear:—
For a man-machine toil-tired
May crave beauty too—though he’s hired.”
―
“Can we stop calling it a bucket list? Again: implied death,” I
noted.
“I thought it meant all the things you can fi t into a bucket to do.”
“Um, no, I think it means all the things you can do before you
kick the bucket. Which, actually, I think is an allusion to suicide, right?
Like, kicking the bucket out from under your feet while you hang.
Or maybe someone else is kicking out the bucket.”
― The F-It List
noted.
“I thought it meant all the things you can fi t into a bucket to do.”
“Um, no, I think it means all the things you can do before you
kick the bucket. Which, actually, I think is an allusion to suicide, right?
Like, kicking the bucket out from under your feet while you hang.
Or maybe someone else is kicking out the bucket.”
― The F-It List
Kimpatt’s 2025 Year in Books
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