Watching dead people on TV — it seems so strange to me that everyone we meet is image-stuffed — in love with Marilyn Monroe, or some such — cat in your lap, soft furr, purring during drug commercials — and didn’t she/he/they die of an overdose? didn’t we all, our fingers bent and dumb from texting? . [ 1820 ]
Imagine flaming brightly, burning up in the atmosphere, and then understanding, that was your life. . [ 1816 ]
Rest in Peace — I’ve no fondness for the saying. It would make far better sense, when babies are born, To say, Live in Peace, and to conduct ourselves In such a way that the rest will be assured. . [ 1808 ]
I don’t need a name, but I’m not bothered by having one. Having a name doesn’t change or threaten my essential anonymity. Being no one, being everything and everyone, is my natural state. It’s the inevitable consequence of having been born. Before that, and after, is what stars are for. . [ 1806 ]
O, to read our autobiographies to the end, and arrive at our original perfection! . [ 1802 ]
Lay me down, tuck me in. Lean on your shovels, have a quiet conversation. Remember, you’re gardening, nothing more, nothing less. The good earth will do the rest. . [ 1800 ]
Each time they met, they bowed to one another and uttered not a word. They were old by then. When one of them died, they went on bowing just the same. And somehow when the other died, their bowing remained. Cane in hand, I thought, I’ve known men who were just like trees. . [ 1794 ]
On his death bed the old man said, Whatever it is, whatever you do, whatever you love, whatever you feel, don’t make it a religion. Then, nearing his last breath, he raised his hand a little and whispered, Unless . . . . [ 1776 ]
What we think we’ve lost, we never had at all. What we think we have, we never really can or will. What we think is what we think we think, until . . . . [ 1763 ]
I found myself at shovel’s depth, sweet loam above and more below than I could imagine; first my knees, then my hands — I’d never felt such welcome; my face, my breath — I no longer cared to stand, let my limbs sink in as a favorite story might begin; and when I reached the end, I awoke to death, and pulled the shovel out again. . [ 1757 ]
William Michaelian 
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