For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.
He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.
A human life is a story told by God.
People do not die for us immediately, but remain bathed in a sort of aura of life which bears no relation to true immortality but through which they continue to occupy our thoughts in the same way as when they were alive. It is as though they were traveling abroad.
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
Death is for many of us the gate of hell; but we are inside on the way out, not outside on the way in.
He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.
All say, “How hard it is that we have to die” — a strange complaint to come from the mouths of people who have had to live.
After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.
Death is beautiful when seen to be a law, and not an accident – It is as common as life.