Anyone who’s never watched somebody die is suffering from a pretty bad case of virginity.

I’m doomed to die, right? Why should I care if I go to Hades either with gout in my leg or a runner’s grace? Plenty of people will carry me there.

Is this dying? Is this all? Is this all that I feared when I prayed against a hard death? Oh, I can bear this! I can bear it!

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.

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.

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

If a parricide is more wicked than anyone who commits homicide—because he kills not merely a man but a near relative—without doubt worse still is he who kills himself, because there is none nearer to a man than himself. 

Death renders all equal.

Nobody, sir, dies willingly.

Bereavement is a darkness impenetrable to the imagination of the unbereaved.

There is no man so fortunate that there shall not be by him when he is dying some who are pleased with what is going to happen.

Whoever has died is freed from sin.

Those from whom we were born have long since departed, and those with whom we grew up exist only in memory. We, too, through the approach of death, become, as it were, trees growing on the sandy bank of a river.