We are the dead. Our only true life is in the future.
We are all born in the same way but we all die in different ways.
Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.
To examine the causes of life, we must first have recourse to death.
To die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly.
To die is poignantly bitter, but the idea of having to die without having lived is unbearable.
To die hating them, that was freedom.
To abandon oneself to principles is really to die – and to die for an impossible love which is the contrary of love.
Those who hope for no other life are dead even for this.
Those who deserve to die, die the death they deserve.
These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume.
There’s nothing like death for bringing out the meanness of human nature.
