And the fact was that he remembered once thinking that he was fine with dying anywhere at any time… but now, gazing at each corpse in turn, he thought with all his heart, I’m glad I didn’t die there. I have to go home. I’ve still got things to do.

— Yukako Kabei

And then we cowards who loved the whispering evening, the houses, the paths by the river, the dirty red lights of those places, the sweet soundless sorrow—we reached our hands out toward the living chaining silence, but our heart startled us with blood, and no more sweetness then, no more losing ourselves on the path by the river—no longer slaves, we knew we were alone and alive.(Translated By Geoffrey Brock)

— Cesare Pavese

Another thread snaps loose from my heart, the pain precise and acute. I embrace it, because it reminds me I'm still here. I'm alive. Furthermore, I'm empowered.

— A.G. Howard

Are you hurt?” the woman asks.“Just my—” Even after the water, her voice comes out as a dry hiss. She clears her throat and tries again. “Just my ankle.”“Can you tell us where the others are? Are they. . . ?” Charlie fades off, but she knows how the question ends.“They’re still out there. Still alive.” Hallelujah will not think about the alternative. But by not trying to not think about it, she’s thinking about it, and it’s making her feel panicky. “I was the only one who could walk, so I—” She gulps. Draws in a shaky breath. Charlie dismounts his bike and squats down next to her. “Go on,” he says. His voice is soft. His accent is southern. But not hillbilly southern. Deep South. He’s not from around here either. She can’t believe her mind is wandering like this. She tries to focus.“We found—Jonah found a trail, and I followed it to this road. They’re at a campsite by the trail. I. . .” Hallelujah falters. “I don’t know how far. I wasn’t walking very fast. We haven’t eaten in. . . A while. And Rachel—she’s sick. She was throwing up. And Jonah cut his leg, and it wouldn’t stop bleeding. . . .”“Jesus,” the woman says.

— Kathryn Holmes

Art is the expression of appreciation of beauty real or imagined. It's also an examination of what it means to be alive with all its varied things, emotions, and experiences. We are forever trying to explain ourselves to the world or the world to ourselves.

— Jay Woodman

As his people positioned themselves in and around the pass, Akin though that he might have misunderstood the Valerian addiction to war. He had assumed it was spurred by greed. By a savage sense of superiority. It had never occurred to him that Valerians also went to war because of love. Arin loved those hours of waiting. The silent, brilliant tension, like scribbles of heat lightning. His city far below and behind him, his hand on a cannon's curve, ears open to the acoustics of the pass. He stared into it, and even though he smelled the reek of fear from men and women around him, he was caught in a kind of wonder. He felt so vibrant. As if his life was fresh, translucent, thin-skinned fruit. It could be sliced apart, and he wouldn't care. Nothing felt like this.

— Marie Rutkoski

As long as you’re breathing, your story’s still going.

— Darren Shan

...a soft inward look some into his eyes, as if he was amazed to find himself alive on such a beautiful day.

— Sarah Porter

A soul needs a purpose to live, and so I concluded that my purpose was to kill everyone besides myself. I felt alive.--GAAR

— Masashi Kishimoto

As the bus took us north on a connection of dark farm roads and smaller highways, I started to wonder where all the cars were. How could the streets be so empty? How could people sleep when there was so much at stake, so much happening, when there were so many reasons to be awake and alive? And I wondered how it was that I could feel both empty, like these streets, and yet so full at the same time. And those weren't the only contrasting poles inside me. I felt sad and happy. Scared and exhilarated. I felt young and old.

— Dana Reinhardt