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

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.

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.

I imagined it was more difficult to die. 

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

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

Nobody, sir, dies willingly.

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!

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 do not amuse myself by thinking of dead people.

Can we not live without pleasure, who cannot but with pleasure die?