Death (n.) has patrician hands which, while crushing, also liberate.
Death (n.) exalts injustice in the rebel's universe; it is the supreme abuse.
Death (n.) comes alone after a life in a crowd, for a populace without religion and idols.
Death (n.) cannot be experienced, which is why everyone lives as if no one 'knew.'
Death (n.) should come to us unreconciled and not of our own free will.
Death (n.) implies for the Christian infinitely more hope than life does for us, even when life overflows with health.
Death (n.) means nothing to some men: it is merely the event that proves them right.
Death (n.) tests meaning — if nothing lasts, nothing is justified — so to fight against death amounts to claiming that life has a meaning.
Death (n.) is the most irrational and solitary event of all — which is why the Empire, striving to found a definitive kingdom, must integrate it too.
Death (n.) is the only thing that rouses our feelings: how we cherish friends just gone, how we admire teachers whose mouths are full of earth.
Death (n.) is the one thing the doctor never gets used to: there are people who refuse to die, a woman screaming 'Never!' with her last gasp.
Death (n.) in a hot country leaves no time to grieve: you've hardly got used to the idea that someone's dead before you're hauled off to the funeral.
Death (n.) is a dark wind blowing toward us from the future all our lives, levelling every idea people try to foist on us — a mother's love, God, the life one chooses.
Death (n.) in a busy town is less a difficulty than a discomfort: the dying man lies trapped behind hot walls while everyone else discusses discounts on the telephone.
Death (n.) holds nothing sacred; there is a great distance between fear and respect — 'Want a ride, sister?' shout the undertakers from the empty hearse.
Death (n.) horrifies by its mathematics: time works out the problem and the solution comes afterward — an inert body on which a slap makes no mark.
Death (n.) at thirty or at seventy makes little difference: either way others go on living, the world goes on as before, and the business of dying has to be got through.
Death (n.) in refusal reaffirms a human nature that will not be an object — so the accused must die dishonored, or not exist at all: he does not die, he disappears.
Death (n.) is the only thing that convinces men of your sincerity and your sufferings; alive, your case is doubtful — to cease being a doubtful case, one has to cease being.
Death (n.) leaves us undefended — against everything else we can take precautions, but before it we all live like the inhabitants of a defenseless citadel.