The Oxford Book of DeathDennis Joseph Enright Oxford University Press, 1987 - 351 psl. "Reading for this anthology," writes D.J. Enright, "I was moved to the thought that on no theme have writers shown themselves more lively." A survivor of Belsen voiced the same sentiment when, reflecting on the concentration camps, he wrote, "When in death we are in the midst of life." By turns poignant, tragic, comic, and inspiring, this anthology of thoughts about death ranges from ancient times to the present day--including almost 900 selections by poets, novelists, philosophers, scientists, and common people. Arranged under headings such as "Love," "War," "Last Words," and "Children," these selections show the varied, sometimes surprising, reactions of the dying and the bereaved to the final human act. |
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165 psl.
... live again In minds made better by their presence : live In pulses stirred to generosity , In deeds of daring rectitude , in scorn For miserable aims that end with self , In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars , And with ...
... live again In minds made better by their presence : live In pulses stirred to generosity , In deeds of daring rectitude , in scorn For miserable aims that end with self , In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars , And with ...
245 psl.
... live as living , they live as dead , Thus still they live and yet are dead , And for the living their death is bread . GOTTFRIED VON STRASSBURG , Tristan und Isolt , c.1210 Above the horizon the bank of cloud divided , silver in grey ...
... live as living , they live as dead , Thus still they live and yet are dead , And for the living their death is bread . GOTTFRIED VON STRASSBURG , Tristan und Isolt , c.1210 Above the horizon the bank of cloud divided , silver in grey ...
249 psl.
... live to bury me , Nor weeping I , with wither'd arms may bear My breathless Baucis to the sepulcher . ' The godheads sign their suit . They run their race In the same tenor all th ' appointed space ; Then , when their hour was come ...
... live to bury me , Nor weeping I , with wither'd arms may bear My breathless Baucis to the sepulcher . ' The godheads sign their suit . They run their race In the same tenor all th ' appointed space ; Then , when their hour was come ...
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