Quotes About Survival

Here's one night when I control the chaos. I participate with the doom I can't control. I'm dancing with the inevitable, and I survive....My regular little dress rehearsal...the day I finally meet Death, the two of us will be old, long-lost friends. Me and Death, separated at birth.

We're all here. Alive and unwell.

Here in the bathroom with me are razor blades. Here is iodine to drink. Here are sleeping pills to swallow. You have a choice. Live or die. Every breath is a choice. Every minute is a choice. To be or not to be. Every time you don't throw yourself down the stairs, that's a choice. Every time you don't crash your car, you reenlist.

Get out of here, and do your little life, but remember I'm watching you, Raymond Hessel, and I'd rather kill you than see you working a shit job for just enough money to buy cheese and watch television.

On a large enough time line, the survival rate for everyone will drop to zero.

In the world I see - you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway.

Every takeoff and landing, when the plane banked too much to one side, I prayed for a crash.

Something or someone lived or died so you could have this life. The mountain of the dead. They left you into the daylight.

At least Anne Frank," Comrade Snarky said, "never had to tour with her book . . .

You realize it's not wooden stakes that kill vampires. It's all the emotional baggage and letdowns they have to carry around for century after century.

Right now, me get­ting killed would be redun­dant.

The truth is you can be orphaned again and again and again. The truth is you will be.

You wake up at SeaTac. I study the people on the laminated airline seat card. A woman floats in the ocean, her brown hair spread out behind her, her seat cushion clutched to her chest. The eyes are wide open, but the woman doesn't smile or frown. In another picture, people calm as Hindu cows reach up from their seats toward oxygen masks sprung out of the ceiling. This must be an emergency. Oh.

To anyone reading this who isn't already dead, I wish you luck, honestly I do. You just keep swallowing your vitamins. Keep jogging around reservoirs and avoiding second hand cigarette smoke. Cross your fingers! Maybe death won't happen to you.

If the young man ate candy, the wrangler says, that's probably what's kept him alive so long. Glucose is a natural antidote to cyanide poisoning. Based on anecdotal evidence, glucose binds with the cyanide to produce less toxic compounds.

It could be worse. A woman could cut off your penis while you're sleeping and toss it out the window of a moving car.

Não me pergunte quando porque eu não me lembro, mas, no meio disso tudo, eu acabo me esquecendo de cometer suicídio.

The way my face is without a jaw, my throat just ends in sort of a hole with my tongue hanging out. Around the hole, the skin is all scar tissue: dark red lumps and shiny the way you'd look if you got the cherry pie in a pie eating contest. If I let my tongue hang down, you can see the roof of my mouth, pink and smooth as the inside of a crab's back, and hanging down around the roof is the white vertebrae horseshoe of the upper teeth I have left.

We ourselves, will resurrect the memory in order to savor it and carry it forth into the world. We will fling it at one another for laughs. Distort it. We will toss the story into the air at parties and howl over its ripeness. Degraded as it was, we will degrade it further. Make it more swollen. We shall render it impossibly awful, making of it the mythology of ourselves. A comfort. Proof of the trials we've survived.

The truth is there's always been someone to tell me what to do. The church. The people who I work for. The caseworker. And I can't stand the idea of being alone. I can't bear the thought of being free. Survivor

Lo que en realidad quería era meterle una bala entre ceja y ceja a todos los osos panda en peligro de extinción que no se decidían a follar para salvar su especie.

Would it be so bad? To be the last two people in the world? His hand slips around, wraps around Miss Sneezy's limp fingers, and Mr. Whittier says, Why can't the world end the same way it started?

I am Jack's prostate. I get cancer. I kill Jack.

VÅ¡ichni jsme myÅ¡lenky, které bojují o vlastní pÃ…â"¢ežití.