DEATH COMES SLOWLY LIKE ANTS TO A FALLEN FIG — Charles Bukowski
DEATH COMES SLOWLY LIKE ANTS TO A FALLEN FIG — Charles Bukowski
DEATH COMES SLOWLY LIKE ANTS TO A FALLEN FIG — Charles Bukowski
DEATH COMES SLOWLY LIKE ANTS TO A FALLEN FIG — Charles Bukowski
DEATH COMES SLOWLY LIKE ANTS TO A FALLEN FIG — Charles Bukowski
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DEATH COMES SLOWLY LIKE ANTS TO A FALLEN FIG

— Charles Bukowski
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death dying life morbid

More “Death” Quotes

We have…Settled into a region called “don’t ask don’t tell” and it is hard, i imagine for people who have not experience — Daisy Hernandez, A Cup of Water Under My Bed: A Memoir
Then I looked out onto the horizon myself and realized that loss is the same wherever you go: overwhelming, inexorable, — Jennifer Ryan, The Chilbury Ladies' Choir
When he left us, he stole all the words. — Alex George, Setting Free the Kites
This is what loss was, what death was: an escape into the luminous wave-forms, into the ineffable speed of the light-yea — Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown
Death always feels far away from life, until it isn’t. — Corey Ann Haydu, The Careful Undressing of Love
There are people that have had worse happen to them. All those people that died in the hotel bombing? All those that wer — Sonal Panse, The Sunshine Time: Season 1 Episode 4
I think about the people I know with the absolutely largest hearts, people with a stunning capacity for endurance and gr — Brian Doyle, The Wet Engine: Exploring Mad Wild Miracle of Heart
Okay.' I can feel the letters vomit off my tongue.O.K.A. Y.I watch the vet insert the syringe into the catheter and inje — Steven Rowley, Lily and the Octopus
Sometimes a tragedy must happen to keep a soul on schedule. This is the reason for things that seem to have no reason. T — Kate McGahan, Jack McAfghan: Return from Rainbow Bridge
After she was gone, I sheathed her sword at my belt, draped her cloak over my shoulders, carried her heart in my arms, a — Marie Lu, The Midnight Star
Each of us repeats Adam’s journey and acknowledges, with the loss of innocence, that he is mortal. Weep and pray, O Arse — Eugene Vodolazkin
If grief kills us not, we kill it. Not that I cease to grieve; for each hour, revealing to me how excelling and matchles — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, The Fortunes of Perkin Warbeck