Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.
There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.
The reaper does not listen to the harvest.
We don't beat the Reaper by living longer. We beat the Reaper by living well.
You can be a king or a street sweeper, but everyone dances with the Grim Reaper.
Everyone knows that time is Death, that Death hides in clocks. Imposing another time powered by the Clock of the Imagination, however, can refuse his law. Here, freed of the Grim Reaper's scythe, we learn that pain is knowledge and all knowledge pain.
No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away.
The Grim Reaper doesn't disappear... he catches up.
Death is not a reaper, like they say, nor even a friend. It is a dark, fierce water, an inundation.
We don't beat the reaper by living longer, but by living well, and living fully - for the reaper will come for all of us. The question is: what do we do between the time we're born and the time he shows up.
I am not cute. I am the dreaded Grim Reaper. People fear me, you know. There's a whole song about it.
In the midst of a foggy field, the answers are hidden But the impossible journey deems them forbidden. The Reaper of Death, the Angel of Life. They walk together in day and night.
You will need to find your passion. Don't give up on finding it because then all you're doing is waiting for the Reaper.
Just FYI, in your case, I think it’s okay to fear the reaper.
I've cheated the Grim Reaper more times than anyone I know, and I'll fight like a wildcat until they nail the lid of my pine box down on me.
I'm so happy dancing while the grim reaper cuts, cuts, cuts, but he can't get me. I'm as clever as can be, and I'm very quick but don't forget; we've only got so many tricks. no one lives forever.
What can the harvest hope for, if not for the care of the Reaper Man?
All things that are, are ours. But we must care. For if we do not care, we do not exist. If we do not exist, then there is nothing but blind oblivion. And even oblivion must end someday. Lord, will you grant me just a little time? For the proper balance of things. To return what was given. For the sake of prisoners and the flight of birds. Death took a step backwards. It was impossible to read expression in azrael's features. Death glanced sideways at the servants. Lord, what can the harvest hope for, if not for the care of the reaper man?
Reaper of enemies; strong of grip; One kind with his fathers.
What can the harvest hope for...
But a day must come when the fire of youth will be quenched in my veins, when winter will dwell in my heart, when his snow flakes will whiten my locks, and his mists will dim my eyes. Then my friends will lie in their lonely grave, and I alone will remain like a solitary stalk forgotten by the reaper.
I'ma do my thing until the day the reaper come for me. You can keep on grillin', I'ma smile back.
It was the living who ignored the strange and wonderful, because life was too full of the boring and mundane.
You're my Red Reaper, and I've missed you terribly.
Lie in the sun with the child in your flesh shining like a jewel. Dream and sing, pagan, wise in your vitals. Stand still like a fat budding tree, like a stalk of corn athrob and aglisten in the heat. Lie like a mare panting with the dancing feet of colts against her sides. Sleep at night as the spring earth. Walk heavily as a wheat stalk at its full time bending towards the earth waiting for the reaper. Let your life swell downward so you become like a vase, a vessel. Let the unknown child knock and knock against you and rise like a dolphin within.
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