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

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.

A god cannot procure death for himself, even if he wished it, which, so numerous are the evils of life, has been granted to man as our chief good.

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

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

I am about to take my last voyage, a great leap in the dark.

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.

Life is a farce, and should not end with a mourning scene.

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

Death keeps no calendar.

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

I think it makes small difference to the dead if they are buried in the tokens of luxury. All this is an empty glorification left for those who live.

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.