Imagine a number of men in chains, all under sentence of death, some of whom are each day butchered in the sight of the others; those remaining see their own condition in that of their fellows and, looking at each other with grief and despair, await their turn. This is an image of the human condition.

In dealing with the dead, if we treat them as if they were entirely dead, that would show a want of affection and should not be done; or, if we treat them as if they were entirely alive, that would show a want of wisdom and should not be done.

I imagined it was more difficult to die. 

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

The only evidence, so far as I know, about another life is, first, that we have no evidence; and, secondly, that we are rather sorry that we have not, and wish we had.

I doubt that we have any right to pity the dead for their own sakes.

If a man will observe as he walks the streets, I believe he will find the merriest countenances in mourning coaches.

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

What is death? A scary mask. Take it off—see, it doesn’t bite.

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

Death keeps no calendar.

The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways—I to die, and you to live. Which is better, only the god knows.

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