Death always waits. The door of the hearse is never closed.

Death always waits. The door of the hearse is never closed.

...the mind is conscious, but conscious of nothing - I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope read more

...the mind is conscious, but conscious of nothing - I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: so the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

One who rushes madly after inordinate desire, runs the risk of encountering destruction and death.

One who rushes madly after inordinate desire, runs the risk of encountering destruction and death.

If man were immortal he could be perfectly sure of seeing the day when everything in which he had trusted read more

If man were immortal he could be perfectly sure of seeing the day when everything in which he had trusted should betray his trust, and, in short, of coming eventually to hopeless misery. He would break down, at last, as every good fortune, as every dynasty, as every civilization does. In place of this we have death.

God's finger touched him, and he slept.

God's finger touched him, and he slept.

All say, "How hard it is that we have to die" - a strange complaint to come from the mouths read more

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.

It is good to die before one has done anything deserving death.

It is good to die before one has done anything deserving death.

There is but one philosophy and its name is fortitude! To bear is to conquer our fate.

There is but one philosophy and its name is fortitude! To bear is to conquer our fate.

Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the read more

Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.