What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls
a butterfly.

What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls
a butterfly.

Don't strew me with roses after I'm dead. When Death claims the light of my brow No flowers of life read more

Don't strew me with roses after I'm dead. When Death claims the light of my brow No flowers of life will cheer me: instead You may give me my roses now!

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.

So fades a summer cloud away;
So sinks the gale when storms are o'er;
So gently shuts read more

So fades a summer cloud away;
So sinks the gale when storms are o'er;
So gently shuts the eye of day;
So dies a wave along the shore.

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

You can shed tears that she is gone, or you can smile because she has lived.You can close your eyes read more

You can shed tears that she is gone, or you can smile because she has lived.You can close your eyes and pray that she'll come back,or you can open your eyes and see all she's left.Your heart can be empty because you can't see her,or you can be full of the love you shared.You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday, or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.You can remember her only that she is gone,or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back.Or you can do what she'd want:smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

What then remains, but that we still should cry
Not to be born, or being born to die.

What then remains, but that we still should cry
Not to be born, or being born to die.

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.

To die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly. Death of one's own free choice, death at read more

To die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly. Death of one's own free choice, death at the proper time, with a clear head and with joyfulness, consummated in the midst of children and witnesses: so that an actual leave-taking is possible while he who is leaving is still there.