Death

The Bustle in a House
by Emily Dickinson

The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth, –

The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.

Because I Could Not Stop for Death
by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

Death is no escape. There will be another place after this, and you will be the same in it. The same you, the same problems, feeling the same. But there is hope. Even if you cannot change life, you can change your self. Become the person you want to be. No one has any greater power than that – to be their best self.

You can escape from your life. But you will never be able to hide from death.

Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong desire to live taking the form of a readiness to die. »He that will lose his life, the same shall save it,« is not a pice of mysticism for saints and heroes. It is a piece of everyday advice for sailors or mountaineers.
 – G.K. Chesterton

nicole wrote: »I don't want to die.«

Nor do I want to. But I know, that there will be a day everybody has to leave this place. Everybody will die. We cannot run from it, eventhough some might try really hard. Death may come in a minute, a second. But it also may last long – if you see somebody dieing from day to day.
In fact every man (and woman) dies day by day, hour by hour. Every minute we live is a minute that will never come back. It's lost to us! Really?

No – I don't think so. Every moment we live brings back some experiences. Moments we lived are not wasted, so I would not call them lost, although I cannot deny that they'll never come back. But since we gain something out of them, nobody should call them lost.

And the moment our life will end, will bring experiences to others – but we, everything we did on earth, everybody we got in contact with, will stay in some way. – That's what I believe. That's what I fell about death, the death of beloved people... Still I could cry thinking of them.

The fear of death is indeed the pretence of wisdom, and not real wisdom, being the appearance of knowing the unknown.

--Plato.