Nobody, sir, dies willingly.

Epitaph, n. An inscription on a tomb, showing that virtues acquired by death have a retroactive effect.

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

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

I order that my funeral ceremonies be extremely modest, and that they take place at dawn or at the evening Ave Maria, without song or music.

I was born without knowing why, I have lived without knowing why, and I am dying without either knowing why or how.

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

Anyone who’s never watched somebody die is suffering from a pretty bad case of virginity.

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.

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.

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!

The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways—I to die, and you to live. Which is better, only the god knows.

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.