See in what peace a Christian can die.

The final hour when we cease to exist does not itself bring death; it merely of itself completes the death-process. We reach death at that moment, but we have been a long time on the way.

It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives. The act of dying is not of importance, it lasts so short a time.

The course of my long life hath reached at last in fragile bark over a tempestuous sea the common harbor, where must rendered be account for all the actions of the past.

A belief in hell and the knowledge that every ambition is doomed to frustration at the hands of a skeleton have never prevented the majority of human beings from behaving as though death were no more than an unfounded rumor.

For he who lives more lives than one: More deaths than one must die.

Now, a corpse, poor thing, is an untouchable and the process of decay is, of all pieces of bad manners, the vulgarest imaginable. For a corpse is, by definition, a person absolutely devoid of savoir vivre.

Death may be the greatest of all human blessings.

Men must endure, their going hence even as their coming hither. Ripeness is all.

Life is the jailer, death the angel sent to draw the unwilling bolts and set us free.