Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste death but once.
Of all the wonders that I have yet heard,
It seems to me the most strange that men should fear,
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.
— William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar (via larmoyante)
Mar 19 · 2,244 notes · reblog

Thoughts on Despair

I have noticed that in pictures of despair and grief, that the individuals suffering always seem to cover –and hold—their faces with their hands or to hang their heads, hiding their faces and expressions from view. It is the same defense that we employ when we are ashamed, to hide our faces from the world because we are not worthy. But with shamefulness, when you imagine a person hiding their face, it always seems to come with the presence of another waiting there to lift our heads up, wipe the tears and to tell you that it will be alright. Now the reason for that could range from our habit of expecting happy endings, the fact that we have been force-fed stories where there is always a hero that will come to the rescue or that to imagine such hopelessness is almost impossible for our minds, but it is there, with shame, we cover our faces but we know that we will be forgiven, by someone else or by ourselves. It is as if one is lost in a lightless tunnel, with shame, we are embarrassed by the fact that we’ve managed to get lost in the first place, frustrated by our own lack of direction but hopeful that if we keep moving, there will be a light that will highlight the path to the world above. An escape exists, a light –person, thing or idea—will uncover our face. In despair, there exists no such thing, it is the shame without the light. An acceptance that the pain is eternal, you have searched for the light till your legs have become heavy, the eyes tired and the body weary and you suffer shamefully but instead of hiding your face and waiting to be lifted into the light, the face is hidden as a sign of failure of life, of unworthiness. I believe most people do not understand despair and confuse it with the similar suffering, of being in pain or depression and I can understand why they do not. To imagine a life without hope is impossible till you live a life of despair. Hope is hardwired into our minds, with each sunrise is another chance at life, and with each sunset is the disappearance of many problems, but a life of despair does not lend such favors. Each sunrise is dreaded and each sunset is welcomed as hopefully –ironically—the last one. Troubles do not end in a state of despair, the sunset does not end the end, it drags on like one long continuous day and many times suicide or madness is the only true escape. This inability to imagine such a situation is why I believe that people will never fully understand or empathize with suicide victims. It is always said that those who take their own lives are cowards, selfish individuals that are too weak for the troubles of life, that they should have asked for help. Their pain is always compared to the pain of others who manage to live on, those with courage who rage against the pain of life and do not take the easy way out. But what takes more courage than to take your own life? Hope is an innate belief that we have, a belief that one could get lost in, become delusional with and continue to live as if you would be the exception from the suffering of the world. The human brain though instinctively protects itself and the body, if you try to hold your breath for too long, your body will force you to release –unless you’re one of the few who do it till they pass out. When you fall, your hands automatically come to protect your face, if you are being beaten, you curl up and protect your head. To harm oneself is to override the body and brain’s functions of protecting itself. To have that despair is not something that is as simple as “try being happy” or “do you need someone to talk to”, no, that’s ignoring the main aspect of despair, the lack of hope. To talk to someone comes with the hope that it will somehow make things better, and it suggests that such solutions have not been tried, there is no talking because there is no longer any power that worlds have in that lightless tunnel. 

Feb 24 · 1 note · reblog

humansofnewyork:


"I was engaged eight years ago, but my fiancee died in Iraq. After that, I promised myself that I’d never be that dependent on someone again. So after I met my husband, I fought marriage for the longest time. But we got married in September. And even though I was rebelling against it, and I always saw it as a meaningless formality, I’ve been surprised. There’s a comfort in knowing that you’re sworn to someone else."

humansofnewyork:

"I was engaged eight years ago, but my fiancee died in Iraq. After that, I promised myself that I’d never be that dependent on someone again. So after I met my husband, I fought marriage for the longest time. But we got married in September. And even though I was rebelling against it, and I always saw it as a meaningless formality, I’ve been surprised. There’s a comfort in knowing that you’re sworn to someone else."

Jan 22 · 11,877 notes · reblog

I like not only to be loved, but also to be told that I am loved. I am not sure that you are of the same mind. But the realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave. This is the world of light and speech, and I shall take leave to tell you that you are very dear.
— George Eliot (via beatboxgoesthump)
Jan 22 · 278 notes · reblog

Madame, all stories, if continued far enough, end in death, and he is no true-story teller who would keep that from you.
— ― Ernest Hemingway (via psych-quotes)
Jan 21 · 872 notes · reblog

Always the same. Now a spark of hope flashes up, then a sea of despair rages, and always pain; always pain, always despair, and always the same. When alone he had a dreadful and distressing desire to call someone, but he knew beforehand that with others present it would be still worse.
— Leo Tolstoy, The Death of Ivan Ilych (via teatimewithnietzsche)
Jan 19 · 11 notes · reblog

4. Among the obvious: I know that every human activity consists, one way or another, of battling death.
— Patrick Dubost
Dec 08 · 1 note · reblog

In the Olympian courts Love laughed at Death, because he was unsightly, and because She couldn’t help it, and because he never did anything worth doing, and because She would.
— Lord Dunsany- Death and Odysseus 
Nov 15 · 1 note · reblog

If you have some good argument as to why Trayvon Martin, an unarmed teenager, was shot to death for walking in the neighborhood of an armed man who felt comfortable stalking and confronting him, please make that argument and avoid a completely uncorroborated suggestion that those who disagree with you are not arguing anything ideological and not the fundamental reality of the tragedy.
— David Simon
Jul 15 · 2 notes · reblog

Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
The King of Terrors  (1910) 
by Henry Scott Holland
Jun 24 · reblog