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

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

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.

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.

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

I order that my funeral ceremonies be extremely modest, and that they take place at dawn or at the evening Ave Maria, without song or music.

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

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.

We and the dead ride quick at night. 

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.

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. 

The dead are often just as living to us as the living are, only we cannot get them to believe it. They can come to us, but till we die we cannot go to them. To be dead is to be unable to understand that one is alive. 

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