Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It’s the transition that’s troublesome.
Now is the winter of our discontent.
It was not Death, for I stood up, And all the Dead, lie down – It was not Night, for all the Bells Put out their Tongues, for Noon.
It is well to be off with the old love, before being on with the new.
Dying is a wild Night and a new Road.
