Whoever has died is freed from sin.

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. 

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

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!

I doubt that we have any right to pity the dead for their own sakes.

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.

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

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.

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.

I imagined it was more difficult to die. 

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

If a man will observe as he walks the streets, I believe he will find the merriest countenances in mourning coaches.