One short sleep past, we wake eternally, and Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die.

Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die

Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die.

I follow up the quest despite of day and night and death and hell.

Maud in the light of her youth and her grace, Singing of Death, and of Honor that cannot die, Till I well could weep for a time so sordid and mean, And myself so languid and base.

Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair.

The first day after a death, the new absence Is always the same; we should be careful Of each other, we should be kind While there is still time. From The Mower

“The death of a beloved is an amputation.”

“He died not for men, but for each man. If each man had been the only man made, He would have done no less.”

And if God choose I shall but love thee better after death.

I shall but love thee bitter after death

It is natural to believe in God when you're alone-- quite alone, in the night, thinking about death.

You simply mean that you flirted outrageously with him, poor old chap, and then repented, and to make reparation, married him, though you tortured yourself to death by doing it.

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain

You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour...

To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath;

Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---"On death

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time / I have been half in love with easeful Death...

Death is the only pure, beautiful conclusion of a great passion.

The human consciousness is really homogeneous. There is no complete forgetting, even in death.

Creation destroys as it goes, throws down one tree for the rise of another. But ideal mankind would abolish death, multiply itself million upon million, rear up city upon city, save every parasite alive, until the accumulation of mere existence is swollen to a horror.

“I’m not bitter. Why should I be bitter? I’m thrilled to death with life.”

“They never fail who die in a great cause.”