Death isn’t really so important as we make out.
Death is the highest form of life.
Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities.
Death is repose, but the thought of death disturbs all repose.
Death is our constant companion, and it is death that gives each person’s life its true meaning.
Death is only the stone of oblivion.
Death is only a launching into the region of the strange Untried; it is but the first salutation to the possibilities of the immense Remote, the Wild, the Watery, the Unshored.
Death is one moment, and life is so many of them.
Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain.
Death is for many of us the gate of hell; but we are inside on the way out, not outside on the way in.
Death is a fearful thing.
Death hides within every religion. And at any time it can flash forth – not with healing in its wings but with poison, with that which wounds.
