How people die remains in the memory of those who live on.
Death is dissonance for the weak minded, but a constance for the stronger.
How nice—to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.
In the moment I faced dying, I finally knew my reason for living.
We cry for ourselves, don’t we? Not for the dead. The dead are past caring.
Seventy years of life is nothing in front of a single day of death
Pain, unless it is physical, was sold to you (by your culture).