Wherever ye be, death will overtake you, though ye be in lofty towers.

Death cancels everything but truth.

To die with glory, if one has to die at all, is still, I think, pain for the dier.

Few are wholly dead: Blow on a dead man's embers And a live flame will start.

There is need for some kind of make-believe in order to face death unflinchingly. To our real, naked selves there is not a thing on earth or in heaven worth dying for.

A belief in hell and the knowledge that every ambition is doomed to frustration at the hands of a skeleton have never prevented the majority of human beings from behaving as though death were no more than an unfounded rumor, and survival a thing beyond the bounds of possibility.

Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who Before us passed the door of Darkness through, Not one returns to tell us of the Road, Which to discover we must travel too.

One should die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly.

At my age, I'm often asked if I'm frightened of death and my reply is always, I can't remember being frightened of birth.

Perhaps passing through the gates of death is like passing quietly through the gate in a pasture fence. On the other side, you keep walking, without the need to look back. No shock, no drama, just the lifting of a plank or two in a simple wooden gate in a clearing. Neither pain, nor floods of light, not great voices, but just the silent crossing of a meadow.