One day I'll be old, dead, forgotten. And at this very moment, while I'm sitting here thinking these things, a man in a dingy hotel room is thinking, "I will always be here."
Each life is one short word slowly uttered.
All our life is but a going out to the place of execution, to death.
I will be dead in a few months. But it hasn't given me the slightest anxiety or worry. I always knew I was going to die.
Live as long as you please, you will strike nothing off the time you will have to spend dead.
Death is like an arrow that is already in flight, and your life lasts only until it reaches you.
We know that death never skips or spares anybody and that no one ever returns. And yet we go on like the blind, who see as little at midday as in the pitch-dark night. We do not take these examples to heart; we do not realize that today or tomorrow our turn will come.
Death is with you all the time; you get deeper in it as you move towards it, but it's not unfamiliar to you. It's always been there, so what becomes unfamiliar to you when you pass away from the moment is really life.
Time goes by so fast. Nothin' can outrun it. Death commences too early--almost before you're half-acquainted with life--you meet the other.
There is one who remembers the way to your door: Life you may evade, but Death you shall not.
