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Life is a dream walking, death is going home.

There are few things more difficult than to appraise the work of a man suddenly dead in his youth; to disentangle "promise" from achievement; to save him from that sentimentalizing which confuses the tragedy of the interruption with the merit of the work actually performed.

Thank Heaven! The crisis -- the danger, is past, and the lingering illness, is over at last -- and the fever called "Living" is conquered at last.

No one knows whether death, which people fear to be the greatest evil, may not be the greatest good.

He that lives forever, never fears dying.

I hate funerals and would not attend my own if it could be avoided. But it is well for every man to stop once in a while to think of what sort of a collection of mourners he is training for his final event.

At birth man is offered only one choice -- the choice of his death. But if this choice is governed by distaste for his own existence, his life will never have been more than meaningless.

There is no death. The stars go down to rise upon some other shore. And bright in Heaven's jeweled crown, they shine forevermore.

There is no such thing as death. In nature nothing dies. From each sad remnant of decay, some forms of life arise, so shall his life be taken away before he knoweth that he hath it.

By protracting life, we do not deduct one jot from the duration of death.

Death is someone you see very clearly with eyes in the center of your heart. Eyes that see not by reacting to light, but by reacting to a kind of a chill from within the marrow of your own life.