There never is absolute birth nor complete death, in the strict sense, consisting in the separation of the soul from the body. What we call births are developments and growths, while what we call deaths are envelopments and diminutions.

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

The play is the tragedy “Man,” And its hero the conqueror worm.

I’m doomed to die, right? Why should I care if I go to Hades either with gout in my leg or a runner’s grace? Plenty of people will carry me there.

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.

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

We and the dead ride quick at night. 

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

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

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

I imagined it was more difficult to die. 

Nobody, sir, dies willingly.

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