Nobody, sir, dies willingly.

Death renders all equal.

Bereavement is a darkness impenetrable to the imagination of the unbereaved.

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

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

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

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. 

Whoever has died is freed from sin.

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.

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

Death keeps no calendar.

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.

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