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They called him the white death

They called him the white death. He himself did not establish a name. He remained silent and quiet, just as when he was lying in wait for his next kill. Patiently, from darkness to darkness. He shot unexpectedly, the best sniper in the world, from far only a roar could be heard, silence descended on the light, again the life of one enemy ended, which flowed reddish into the white snow. Like a beast for its victim, he again lurked, one with nature, the world's most famous messenger of death, Simo Häyhä, and they called him the white death.
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I belonged to history

When our car hit the pillar of the Paris tunnel, I knew the world would talk about this for a long time. I had always been photographed, chased, and photographed again. They were after me again, the paparazzi, but for the last time. When I died, I belonged to history, not the paparazzi. I was Princess Diana, divorced, mother of a future king. I died, when my life began.
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Nancy and Sid

I bled dry in a famous people's hotel with a knife and a baby in my belly. I always knew I would die before I turned twenty-one, and when I did, I would die famous. I was the blonde black bride of punk, Nancy Spungen. I don't remember who killed me, I was too crazy, but they say it was Sid. I was crazy, unpredictable and violent. So was Sid. We brought out the worst in each other. Our love could only end badly. Yeah, that madness and heroin.
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I Wanted to Kill Men

I wanted to kill happy people. I wanted to kill men. Men kill women. I hated them. I slept with them for money. They used me like everyone else used me. I myself asked to die. My whole life was hell. From beginning to end. My mother abandoned me, I didn't know my father. They called me the Deathly Hallows. Me, Aileen Wuornos. I'm coming back with Jesus. I'll cry first.
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Jesus, the man

 I died for others,  suffered, healed, lived,  I could not heal myself while bleeding on the cross. Why did you reject me?  I was Jesus of Nazareth,  man, God.  The man who suffered, rose, and disappeared,  and who so many have claimed to be  after me,  but I did not reappear,  I was human.
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The Death of Laura Palmer

they found Laura Palmer's body, wrapped in transparent plastic, beautiful, pale, but murdered, as naked as her soul was hidden. The perfect girl full of cocaine and sex. An angel freed the prom queen, the soul flies free. No more secret diaries, no more nightmares, no more Laura Palmer.    
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Child of the Moon

My name was Brian Jones. I was the Golden Stone,  Child of the Moon. and Stones was my band. I died everyday, they said,  and that was true. I died way too early. I was the first in the 27´s club,  when I drowned.  Please do not judge me to harshly.  
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