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  • #1
    Langston Hughes
    “Life is for the living.
    Death is for the dead.
    Let life be like music.
    And death a note unsaid.”
    Langston Hughes, The Collected Poems

  • #2
    WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUKERS! It was...Dumbledore!
    “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUKERS!"

    It was...Dumbledore!”
    Tara Gilesbie, My Immortal

  • #3
    R.A. Salvatore
    “He put his head down and charged at the mirror. Perhaps it was a teleportation door to another section of the city, perhaps a simple doorway to a room beyond. Or perhaps, Alton dared to imagine in those few desperate seconds, this was some interplanar gate that would being him into a strange and unknown plane of existence!
    He felt the tingling excitement of adventure pulling him on as he neared the wonderer thing - then he felt only the impact, the shattering glass, and the unyielding stone wall behind it.
    Perhaps it was just a mirror.”
    R.A. Salvatore, Homeland

  • #4
    Edna St. Vincent Millay
    “Mine is a body that should die at sea!
    And have for a grave, instead of a grave
    Six feet deep and the length of me,
    All the water that is under the wave!

    And terrible fishes to seize my flesh,
    Such as a living man might fear,
    And eat me while I am firm and fresh, -
    Not wait till I’ve been dead for a year!”
    Edna St. Vincent Millay, Millay

  • #5
    Edna St. Vincent Millay
    “I love humanity but I hate people.”
    Edna St. Vincent Millay

  • #6
    Edna St. Vincent Millay
    Time Does Not Bring Relief

    Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
    Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
    I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
    I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
    The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
    And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;
    But last year’s bitter loving must remain
    Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
    There are a hundred places where I fear
    To go,—so with his memory they brim.
    And entering with relief some quiet place
    Where never fell his foot or shone his face
    I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
    And so stand stricken, so remembering him.”
    Edna St. Vincent Millay, Collected Poems



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