And I will die, and you will die, and we all will die, and even the stars will fade out one after another in time.
And as to you life, I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, no doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.
Analysis can be a very unappetizing affair, as much so as death.
All you do is head straight for the grave, a face just covers a skull awhile. Stretch that skull-cover and smile.
All men must die, Jon Snow. But first we’ll live.
All loss is one, and one loss becomes all, a single death the key to the gate that bars memory.
All interest in disease and death is only another expression of interest in life.
After all, what’s a life, anyway? We’re born, we live a little while, we die.
Achieving life is not the equivalent of avoiding death.
A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it.
A ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is.
A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one.
