#Θᾰ́νᾰτος

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Alphonse Mucha ֍ Noël, L'Illustration magazine (1896-7)

[eiyu-no-yakata]

Welp time to change thanatos’ tag

 from 

Θᾰ́νᾰτος

to just

Thanatos

As it appears tumblr and specifically the archive dont like greek letters. Meaning it says the tags contain no posts but are at the top of the list of most used tags on my blog.

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Cy Twombly ֍ Beyond (A System for Passing) (1971)

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In this particular tub, two knees jut up like icebergs, while minute brown hairs rise on arms and legs in a fringe of kelp; green soap navigates the tidal slosh of seas breaking on legendary beaches; in faith we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.

Sylvia Plath ֍ Tale of a Tub (1956)

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. . . death, or the moment before death, is the only reality. Hence to live, to exist, to participate in reality, is to die.

John Nathan ֍ Mishima: A Biography (1974) 

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Light an Italian cigar, it's slim, tastes bitter. I inhale the space between continents, stretch my legs. it's moments like this—you can feel it happening—that you grow transformed partly into something else strange and unnameable— so when death comes it can only take part of you.

Charles Bukowski ֍ "the 8 count concerto." what matters most is how well you walk through the fire (1999)

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"One step beyond that line, reminiscent of the line separating the living from the dead, and it's the unknown, suffering, and death? And what is there? who is there? there, beyond this field, and the tree, and the roof lit by the sun? No one knows, and you would like to know; and you're afraid to cross that line, and would like to cross it; and you know that sooner or later you will have to cross it and find out what is there on the other side of the line, as you will inevitably find out what is there on the other side of death. And you're strong, healthy, cheerful, and excited, and surrounded by people just as strong and excitedly animated." So, if he does not think it, every man feels who finds himself within sight of an enemy, and this feeling gives a particular brilliance and joyful sharpness of impression to everything that happens in those moments.

Leo Tolstoy ֍ War and Peace (1869)

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CAESAR: Cowards die many times before their deaths, The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear, Seeing that death; a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

William Shakespeare ֍ Julius Caesar (1599)

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If patriotism and erotic desire are identical, and if the object of erotic desire is death, then patriotism is also a desire for death. But it is more than simply desire; it is at the same time a means of obtaining death.

John Nathan ֍ Mishima: A Biography (1974) 

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Was it death he was now waiting for? Or a wild ecstasy of the senses? The two seemed to overlap, almost as if the object of this bodily desire were death itself . . . As their tongues explored one another's mouths . . . they could feel their senses being fired to the red heat of steel by the agonies of death as yet nowhere prefigured. The pain they could not feel yet, the distant pain. of death, had refined their awareness of pleasure.

Yukio Mishima ֍ Patriotism (1961) 

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Mazzy Star ֍ Unreflected (1993)

The unreflected feeling Of a shortened final soul

The life that cuts the cold Now is in your past In our memories We don't have much to say

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it's amazing, amazing, amazing. we're clearly at the edge. it's thunder in a snail's shell. it's the red mark on the black widow. it's the mirror without a reflection. it's the singular viewpoint. it's in the fog over Corpus Christi. it's in the eye of the hen. it's on the back of the turtle.

it's moving at the sun

as you put your shoes on for the last time without knowing it.

Charles Bukowski ֍ "the circus of death." what matters most is how well you walk through the fire (1999)

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it's there from the beginning, to the middle, to the end, there from light to darkness, there through the wasted days and nights, through the wasted years, the continuance of moving toward death. sitting with death in your lap, washing death out of your ears and from between your toes, talking to death, living with death while living through the stained walls and the flat tires and the changing of the guard. living with death in your stockings. opening the morning blinds to death, the circus of death, the dancing girls of death, the yellow teeth of death, the cobra of death, the deserts of death. death like a tennis ball in the mouth of a dog. death while eating a candlelight dinner. the roses of death. death like a moth. death like an empty shoe. death the dentist.

Charles Bukowski ֍ "the circus of death." what matters most is how well you walk through the fire (1999)

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For Ryuji the kiss was death, the very death in love he had always dreamed of. The softness of her lips, her mouth so crimson in the darkness he could see it with closed eyes, so infinitely moist, a tepid coral sea, her restless tongue quivering like sea grass . . . in the dark rapture of all this was something directly linked to death. He was perfectly aware he would leave her in a day, yet he was ready to die happily for her sake. Death roused inside him, stirred.

Yukio Mishima ֍ The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea (1963) 

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Like any good son, I pull my father out of the water, drag him by his hair

through white sand, his knuckles carving a trail the waves rush in to erase. Because the city

beyond the shore is no longer where we left it. Because the bombed

cathedral is now a cathedral of trees. I kneel beside him to see how far

I might sink. Do you know what I am, Ba? But the answer never comes. The answer

is the bullet hole in his back, brimming with seawater. He is so still I think

he could be anyone's father, found the way a green bottle might appear

at a boy's feet containing a year he has never touched. I touch

his ears. No use. I turn him over. To face it. The cathedral

in his sea-black eyes. The face not mine—but one I will wear

to kiss all my lovers good-night: the way I seal my father's lips

with my own & begin the faithful work of drowning.

Ocean Vuong ֍ "Threshold." Night Sky with Exit Wounds (2016)

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Nikolai Rostov turned away, and, as if searching for something, began looking at the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, at the sun! How good the sky seemed, how blue, calm, and deep! How bright and solemn the setting sun! How tenderly and lustrously glistened the waters of the distant Danube! And better still were the distant blue hills beyond the Danube, the convent, the mysterious gorges, the pine forests bathed in mist to their tops . . . there was peace, happiness . . . "There's nothing, nothing I would wish for, there's nothing I would wish for, if only I were there," thought Rostov. "In me alone and in this sun there is so much happiness, but here . . . groans, suffering, fear, and this obscurity, this hurry . . . Again they're shouting something, and again everybody's run back somewhere, and I'm running with them, and here it is, here it is, death, above me, around me . . . An instant, and I'll never again see this sun, this water, this gorge . . ."

Leo Tolstoy ֍ War and Peace (1869)