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

Under the wide and starry sky, / Dig the grave and let me lie.

Whoever has died is freed from sin.

We and the dead ride quick at night. 

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.

You are dust, and to dust you shall return.

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

I looked and there was a pale green horse! Its rider’s name was Death, and Hades followed with him.

Imagine a number of men in chains, all under sentence of death, some of whom are each day butchered in the sight of the others; those remaining see their own condition in that of their fellows and, looking at each other with grief and despair, await their turn. This is an image of the human condition.

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

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.

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

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.