The call of death is a call of love. Death can be sweet if we answer it in the affirmative, if we accept it as one of the great eternal forms of life and transformation.

Nobody, sir, dies willingly.

It is noble to die before doing anything that deserves death.

I looked and there was a pale green horse! Its rider’s name was Death, and Hades followed with him.

Every individual existence goes out in a lonely spasm of helpless agony.

Men have written in the most convincing manner to prove that death is no evil, and this opinion has been confirmed on a thousand celebrated occasions by the weakest of men as well as by heroes. Even so I doubt whether any sensible person has ever believed it, and the trouble men take to convince others as well as themselves that they do shows clearly that it is no easy undertaking. 

When a man dies, and his kin are glad of it, they say, “He is better off.”

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest.

Let my epitaph be, “Here lies Joseph, who failed in everything he undertook.”

To desire immortality for the individual is really the same as wanting to perpetuate an error forever.

Under the wide and starry sky, / Dig the grave and let me lie.

Epitaph, n. An inscription on a tomb, showing that virtues acquired by death have a retroactive effect.