Death and Mourning

Eternity’s a terrible thought. I mean, where’s it all going to end?

Here am I, dying of a hundred good symptoms.

I know death hath ten thousand several doors

Death is not an event in life: we do not live to experience death.

I want to be cremated so people won’t come to worship at my bones.

I feel like an egg, of which only the shell remains; at 75 years old, one can’t expect anything else. One should prepare a person for his death.

You fall out of your mother’s womb, you crawl across open country under fire, and drop into your grave.

Life is a near-death experience.

Man is not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed but not defeated.

I have good hope that there is something after death.

To fear death, my friends, is only to think ourselves wise without really being wise, for it is to think that we know what we do not know. For no one knows whether death may not be the greatest good that can happen to man.

The man consummating his life dies his death triumphantly,surrounded by men filled with hope and making solmn vows, thus one should learn to die.Friedrich Nietzsche - thus spoke zarathustra.

God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?

I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita.

[ Drawing his beard aside before placing his head on the block :] This hath not offended the king.

[ “Last words” :] Money can’t buy life.

I die because I do not die.

Dear World, I am leaving you because I am bored. I feel I have lived long enough. I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool. Good luck.

I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.

 

Bury the Great Duke With an empire’s lamentation.

 

But O for the touch of a vanished hand,

 

Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die.

 

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapors weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many a summer dies the swan.

 

To rest upon a formula is a slumber that, prolonged, means death.