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

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

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.

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. 

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.

Nobody, sir, dies willingly.

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

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

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. 

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!

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

Whoever has died is freed from sin.