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

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

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

I don’t believe in an afterlife, although I am bringing a change of underwear.

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.

Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead.

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

Death and vulgarity are the only two facts in the nineteenth century that one cannot explain away.

Whoever has died is freed from sin.

Death keeps no calendar.

Can we not live without pleasure, who cannot but with pleasure die?

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!

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