There never is absolute birth nor complete death, in the strict sense, consisting in the separation of the soul from the body. What we call births are developments and growths, while what we call deaths are envelopments and diminutions.

You are dust, and to dust you shall return.

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.

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. 

Man has here two and a half minutes—one to smile, one to sigh, and half a one to love; for in the midst of this minute he dies.

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

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

I was born without knowing why, I have lived without knowing why, and I am dying without either knowing why or how.

The play is the tragedy “Man,” And its hero the conqueror worm.

The life of the dead consists in the recollection cherished of them by the living.

I do not amuse myself by thinking of dead people.

We and the dead ride quick at night. 

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.