Thaksin Shinawatra Quotes

The ocean moans over dead men's bones.

Death and worse happened on the plains.

War is death’s holy-day.

The situation is extraordinary. It is militarism run stark mad. Unless someone acting for you can bring about a different understanding there is some day to be an awful cataclysm.

We are in the midst of war – war of the most bloody kind – a war of extermination. Freedom and slavery are interlocked in deadly embrace, and death is certain for one or the other party.... A crisis is just before us ... and only God knoweth where it will end.

They are spinning and people are dying.

In 1874, Mary Fraser accompanied her husband Hugh to Hong Kong, arriving hours after a typhoon had wrecked the island. Some 10,000 boat families had drowned in the harbour. There was no way to avoid the bloated bodies, and when Mary disembarked, she felt her foot land on something soft.

A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many.

I saw corpses, and grew used to their unimportant look, for a dead man without any of the panoply of death is a desperately insignificant object.

I remember when the Titanic sank in 1912, it was the ship that was supposed to be unsinkable. The only thing it ever did was sink. When it took off from England, all kinds of passengers were aboard - millionaires, celebrities, people of moderate means, and poor folks down in the steerage. But a few hours later when they put the list in the Cunard office in New York, it carried only two categories - lost and saved. Grim tragedy had leveled all distinctions.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe!

And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we who never let each other sleep above it.

Peace is in the grave.

A dead enemy is a joy forever

No one would think he'd make such a beautiful corpse.

The contours of the coming disaster expanded to include the deaths of all present.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy, or charms, can make us sleep as well, And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?

It doesn't make a damned bit of difference who wins the war to someone who's dead.

One does not learn how to die by killing others.

Both of us will die today, gunned down or smashed up or exploded in some terrible moment of fire and twisted metal, and when they go to bury us we'll be so melted together and entwined they won't be able to separate the bodies; pieces of him will go with me, and pieces of me will go with him.

It felt odd to be laughing during a firefight. Then again, if you can't laugh when you're about to die, when can you?

The bullet that will kill me is not yet cast.

With respect to duels, indeed, I have my own ideas. Few things in this so surprising world strike me with more surprise. Two little visual spectra of men, hovering with insecure enough cohesion in the midst of the unfathomable, and to dissolve therein, at any rate, very soon, make pause at the distance of twelve paces asunder; whirl around, and simultaneously by the cunningest mechanism, explode one another into dissolution; and, offhand, become air, and non-extant--the little spitfires!

Death is the universal salt of states; Blood is the base of all things--law and war.