It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that is purloined.
Dying is to be avoided because it can ruin your whole career.
Although I am good at enumerating my father’s flaws, it’s hard for me to sustain much anger at him. I expect this is partly because he’s dead, and partly because the bar is lower for fathers than it is for mothers.
Death ... obliterates family resemblance as it does personality: there is no affinity between the living and the dead.
Men cannot act before the camera in the presence of death.
Death makes a prophet's voice louder.
It seems to be remarkable that death increases our veneration for the good, and extenuates our hatred for the bad.
Death cancels all engagements.
Is there a mechanism of death, that so mutilates existence no one, gets over it not even the dead?
