Or renounce life altogether! Accept fate obediently as it is, once and for all, and stifle everything in myself, renouncing any right to act, to live, to love.
The dying man doesn't struggle much and he isn't much afraid. As his alkalies give out he succumbs to a blest stupidity. His mindfogs. His will power vanishes. He submits decently. He scarcely gives a damn.
We are not to choose the manner in which our blessings shall be bestowed.
Given the chance, i'll die like a baby, on some faraway beach, when the season's over.
I made no more protests. What was the use of struggling against fate
So I take my life as I find it, as a life full of grand advantages that are linked indissolubly to my noblest happiness and my everlasting safety. I believe that Infinite Love ordained it, and that, if I bow willingly, tractably, and gladly to its discipline, my Father will take care of it.
Only the idea of death makes a warrior sufficiently detached so that he is capable of abandoning himself to anything. He knows his death is stalking him and won't give him time to cling to anything so he tries, without craving, all of everything.
What is the highest secret to victory and peace? To will what God wills, and strike a league with destiny.
Carry the cross patiently, and with perfect submission; and in the end it shall carry you.
In the state I was in, if someone had come and told me I could go home quietly, that they would leave me my life whole, it would have left me cold: several hours or several years of waiting is all the same when you have lost the illusion of being eternal.
It's such a paradox for them to say, "Oh, my God, I've thrown away my life," and continue to do that for the last month of their life. I shake them, physically shake them, and say, "What about now? What about now?"
I was already headed for Hell, I might as well enjoy the ride.
I lie in an early bed thinking late thoughts, waiting for the black to replace my blue. I do not struggle in your web because it was my aim to get caught. But daddy long legs I feel that I'm finally growing weary of waiting to be consumed by you.
Art is the terms of an armistice signed with fate.
Teach your heart that this is destiny
