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To die will be an awfully big adventure.

But whether on the scaffold high, Or in the battle's van, The fittest place where man can die Is where he dies for man.

Death hath so many doors to let out life.

We must all die! All leave ourselves, it matters not where, when, Nor how, so we die well; and can that man that does so Need lamentation for him?

The wise man's eyes are in his head; but the fool walketh in darkness; and I myself perceived also that one event happeneth to them all.

If there were dreams to sell, what would you buy?

A man's dying is more the survivors' affair than his own.

The idea is to die young as late as possible.

Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life.

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.

To die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly. Death of one's own free choice, death at the proper time, with a clear head and with joyfulness, consummated in the midst of children and witnesses: so that an actual leave-taking is possible while he who is leaving is still there.

If man were immortal he could be perfectly sure of seeing the day when everything in which he had trusted should betray his trust, and, in short, of coming eventually to hopeless misery. He would break down, at last, as every good fortune, as every dynasty, as every civilization does. In place of this we have death.

There are so many little dyings that it doesn't matter which of them is death.

For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.

What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.

We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future. It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance.

God is becoming bitter, he envies man his mortality.

Boy, when you are dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a god dam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you are dead? Nobody.

We cannot banish dangers, but we can banish fears. We must not demean life by standing in awe of death.

They tell us that suicide is the greatest piece of cowardice... that suicide is wrong; when it is quite obvious that there is nothing in the world to which every man has a more unassailable title than to his own life and person.