Everything that gets born dies.
We all try to escape pain and death, while we seek what is pleasant.
As soon as one is born, one starts dying.
Death is a new office building filled with modern furniture, A wise thing, but which has no purpose for us.
The great thing about the dead, they make space.
Oh well, no matter what happens, there's always death.
There is a remedy for everything but death; who, in spite of our teeth, will take us in his clutches.
It's death, that's what I'm suffering from. The systematic encroachment of the big D.
Death is the only monastery; the tomb is the only cell, and the grave that adjoins the convent is the bitterest mock of its futility.
Death is a mighty mediator. There all the flames of rage are extinguished, hatred is appeased, and angelic pity, like a weeping sister, bends with gentle and close embrace over the funeral urn.
Death has a hundred hands and walks by a thousand ways.
Fishing is a pleasure of retirement, yet the angler has the power to let the fish live or die.
Death, which hateth and destroyeth a man, is believed; God, which hath made him and loves him, is always deferred.
As the films of clay are removed from our eyes, Death loses the false aspect of the spectre, and we fall at last into its arms as a wearied child upon the bosom of its mother.
Always be thou prepared, and so live that death may never find thee unprepared.
All I desire for my own burial, is not to be buried alive; but how or where, I think, must be entirely indifferent to every rational creature.
Do not ... hope wholly to reason away your troubles; do not feed them with attention, and they will die imperceptibly away. Fix your thoughts upon your business, fill your intervals with company, and sunshine will again break in upon your mind.
Lately, I've become accustomed to the way The ground opens up and envelopes me Each time I go out to walk the dog.
To how many is the death of the beloved the parent of faith!
I often wish for the end of the wretched remnant of my life; and that wish is a rational one; but then the innate principle of self-preservation, wisely implanted in our natures, for obvious purposes, opposes that wish, and makes us endeavour to spin out our thread as long as we can, however decayed and rotten it may be.
To mourn deeply for the death of another loosens from myself the petty desire for, and the animal adherence to life. We have gained the end of the philosopher, and view without shrinking the coffin and the pall.
Man only of all earthly creatures, asks, Can the dead die forever? - and the instinct that urges the question is God's answer to man, for no instinct is given in vain.
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