Death and Mourning

One dies only once, and it’s for such a long time!

Methought I saw my late espousèd saint

Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail.

Comes the blind Fury with th’ abhorrèd shears,

For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,

Death of a salesman.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave

Whom the gods love dies young.

Dying is a very dull, dreary affair. And my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it.

I [Death] was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.

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

Whenever I prepare for a journey I prepare as though for death. Should I never return, all is in order.

We come out of the dark and go into the dark again, and in between lie the experiences of our life.

If we must die, let it not be like hogs

Let me die a youngman’s death

Life is real! Life is earnest!

I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls

There is no such thing as inner peace. There is only nervousness or death.

Death never takes the wise man by surprise; he is always ready to go.

And the end of the fight is a tombstone white, with the name of the late deceased,

In the long run we are all dead.

Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

When I have fears that I may cease to be

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!