Be kind to everyone, everyone is going through something — Mary Elizabeth Owens, The Crimson Parasol
Be kind to everyone, everyone is going through something — Mary Elizabeth Owens, The Crimson Parasol
Be kind to everyone, everyone is going through something — Mary Elizabeth Owens, The Crimson Parasol
Be kind to everyone, everyone is going through something — Mary Elizabeth Owens, The Crimson Parasol
Be kind to everyone, everyone is going through something — Mary Elizabeth Owens, The Crimson Parasol
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Be kind to everyone, everyone is going through something

— Mary Elizabeth Owens, The Crimson Parasol
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More “Death” Quotes

waiting for the time to be free ...i ask every die forgeting sometimes soon i will be free for ever ... dont hurry the d — mel rojas
If I could control tomorrow's haze,The darkened shore wouldn't bother me,If I can't control the web we weave,My life wil — David Bowie
Without warning, David was visited by an exact vision of death: a long hole in the ground, no wider than your body, down — John Updike, Olinger Stories
Death, it turns out, is the mother of all conflicts. — Mark Z. Danielewski, One Rainy Day in May
All things end. They rarely end as we would like them to and often do so before we are ready. We transition in a way tha — Rob Lowe, Love Life
[Mayor Dana] I don't know a lot of things. I do know there will always be problems for Night Vale. There are so many. Us — joseph fink, jeffrey cranor
Tis only when faced with our own mortality that we truly realize what it means to be alive, — Timothy Strother
Death is just one more Path. One you'll come to in time. — Jim Butcher, The Aeronaut's Windlass
Deep inside of us we all know there is someone we were meant to be. — David Kessler
Ignore death up to the last moment; then, when it can't be ignored any longer, have yourself squirted full of morphia an — Aldous Huxley
To die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly. Death of one's own free choice, death at the proper time, — Friedrich Nietzsche
Jason smiled. The sound of wings was louder now, the fluttering of angels come to carry him home. — Robert Ferrigno, Prayers for the Assassin