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Mors sceptra ligonibus aequat.

Death's pale flag advanced in his cheeks.

Go thou, deceased, to this earth which is a mother, and spacious and kind. May her touch be soft like that of wool, or a young woman, and may she protect thee from the depths of destruction. Rise above him, O Earth, do not press painfully on him, give him good things, give him consolation, as a mother covers her child with her cloth, cover thou him.

Death is a black camel, which kneels at the gates of all.

Call no man happy till he is dead.

But when the sun in all his state, Illumed the eastern skies, She passed through glory's morning gate, And walked in Paradise.

Somewhere, in desolate, wind-swept space, In twilight land, in no man's land, Two hurrying shapes met face to face And bade each other stand. "And who are you?" cried one, a-gape, Shuddering in the glimmering light. "I know not," said the second shape, "I only died last night."

The white sail of his soul has rounded The promontory--death.

Your lost friends are not dead, but gone before, Advanced a stage or two upon that road Which you must travel in the steps they trod.

He who died at Azan sends This to comfort all this friends: Faithful friends! It lies I know Pale and white and cold as snow; And ye say, "Abdallah's dead!" Weeping at the feet and head. I can see your falling tears, I can hear your sighs and prayers; Yet I smile and whisper this: I am not the thing you kiss. Cease your tears and let it lie; It was mine--it is not I.

Her cabin'd ample spirit, It fluttered and fail'd for breath; Tonight it doth inherit The vasty hall of death.

Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome.

What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.

What then remains, but that we still should cry Not to be born, or being born to die.

It is as natural to die as to be born; and to a little infant, perhaps, the one is as painful as the other.

Men fear Death, as children fear to go in the dark; and as that natural fear in children is increased with tales, so is the other.

Death is the universal salt of states; Blood is the base of all things--law and war.

The death-change comes. Death is another life. We bow our heads At going out, we think, and enter straight Another golden chamber of the king's Larger than this we leave, and lovelier. And then in shadowy glimpses, disconnect, The story, flower-like, closes thus its leaves. The will of God is all in all. He makes, Destroys, remakes, for His own pleasure, all.

So fades a summer cloud away; So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; So gently shuts the eye of day; So dies a wave along the shore.

It is only the dead who do not return.