And what is death, if not a face at peace - its artistic perfection.
O fool, what else is sleep but chill death's likeness?
Your dead sleep quietly, at least, Captain, out of reach of sharks" "Yes, sir, of sharks and men.
After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst. Nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing can touch him further.
...the temptation, which consisted of a single word written on the cemetary of the defeated: Sleep.
The dead they sleep a long, long sleep; The dead they rest, and their rest is deep; The dead have peace, but the living weep.
To die: - to sleep: No more; and, by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished.
