End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path... One that we all must take.
But how do we even get to the land of the dead?” I asked. “I mean…without dying.
Every day travels toward death; the last only arrives at it.
To be born is to start the journey towards death.
The day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.
Whatever we say and mean by life is just a journey toward death. If you can understand that your whole life is just a journey and nothing else, then you are less interested in life and more interested in death. And once someone becomes more interested in death, he can go deep into the very depths of life; otherwise, he is just going to remain on the surface.
Dying is a wild night and a new road.
Strange, is it not? That of the myriads who Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through, Not one returns to tell us of the Road Which to discover we must travel too.
A society that doesn't know any longer how to observe every death with proper rituals, that does not know that death is not the end, but only part of the journey, has lost its way, has had the very heart of its humanity torn out.
One night is awaiting us all, and the way of death must be trodden once. [Lat., Omnes una manet nox, Et calcanda semel via leti.]
Death was just the beginning of a journey that everyone took at some point.
Like pilgrims to th' appointed place we tend; The World's an Inn, and Death the journey's end.
Death the last voyage, the longest, and the best.
Unless I'm wrong I but obey The urge of a song: I'm-bound-away! And I may return If dissatisfied With what I learn From having died.
The continual cracking of your feet on the road makes a certain quantity of road come up into you. When a man dies they say he returns to clay but too much walking fills you up with clay far sooner (or buries bits of you along the road) and brings your death half-way to meet you. It is not easy to know what is the best way to move yourself from one place to another.
Build then the ship of death, for you must take the longest journey, to oblivion.
Death's long anabasis.
So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.
How will it be when one of us alone Goes on that strange last journey of the soul? That certain search for an uncertain goal, That voyage on which no comradeship is known?
