My grandfather was a survivor of the Death March and his war buddies were among our neighbors. Where we lived in San Francisco, there was a cultural center where the Filipinos congregate to have parties and to celebrate Bataan Day.
The day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.
Writing my novel 'The Narrow Road to the Deep North,' I came to conclude that great crimes like the Death Railway did not begin with the first beating or murder on that grim line of horror in 1943.
Ride on! ride on in majesty! In lowly pomp ride on to die.
Any business today that embraces the status quo as an operating principle is going to be on a death march.
Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
The Wedding March has a bit of a death march in it.
And death climbs up the steps one by one.
Death's long anabasis.
