The dead are all holy, even they that were base and wicked while alive. Their baseness and wickedness was not they, was but the heavy and unmanageable environment that lay round them.

Death is always sad, I suppose, to us who look forward to it: I expect it will seem very different when we can look back upon it.

I shall not die of a cold. I shall die of having lived.

The fear of death is for all of us everywhere, but for the great intelligence of the opium eater it is beautifully narrowed into the crux of drugs.

There is only one way to be prepared for death: to be sated. In the soul, in the heart, in the spirit, in the flesh. To the brim.

Death is the supple Suitor That wins at last- It is a stealthy Wooing Conducted first By pallid innuendoes And dim approach But brave at last with Bugles.

The distance that the dead have gone Does not at first appear- Their coming back seems possible For many an ardent year.

We never know we go when we are going- We jest and shut the Door- Fate-following-behind us bolts it- And we accost no more-.

You'll find it-when you try to die- The Easier to let go- For recollecting such as went- You could not spare-you know.

Any man s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.