Dying

We all labour against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases.

O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?

Dying is something we human beings do continuously, not just at the end of our physical lives on this earth.

Death not merely ends life, it also bestows upon it a silent completeness, snatched from the hazardous flux to which all things human are subject.

Death never takes the wise man by surprise, He is always ready to go.

He who is obsessed by death is made guilty by it.

Death is not an event in life: we do not live to experience death. If we take eternity to mean not infinite temporal duration but timelessness, then eternal life belongs to those who live in the present.

Let us beware of saying that death is the opposite of life. The living being is only a species of the dead, and a very rare species.

There is nothing which at once affects a man so much and so little as his own death.

Death does determine life. . . . Once life is finished it acquires a sense; up to that point it has not got a sense; its sense is suspended and therefore ambiguous. However, to be sincere I must add that for me death is important only if it is not justified and rationalized by reason. For me death is the maximum of epicness and death.