Death (n.) is the sole cure of all evil, which from our natural folly we regard with still greater horror.
Death (n.) for a man of sixty-five cuts off only a few years of infirmities.
Death (n.) met in any form other than the one a man has reconciled his imagination to acquires new terrors — failed suicides seldom try a second way.
Death (n.) matters to the universe no more than my leaving this chamber for the open air; my elements go on performing their part.
Death (n.) of a household member is hard to believe for the servants above all: they still imagine him in his chamber, as the amputee keeps reaching with the lost arm.
Death (n.) annihilating the self would extinguish only love and hatred, pain and pleasure, thought and sensation — so these must be the self.
Death (n.) of the body moves the soul to a condition more different than water is to a tree or air to a fish — and trees perish in water, fish in air.