Our life is made by the death of others.

Death. The certain prospect of death could sweeten every life with a precious and fragrant drop of levity-and now you strange apothecary souls have turned it into an ill-tasting drop of poison that makes the whole of life repulsive.

Let us beware of saying that death is the opposite of life. The living being is only a species of the dead, and a very rare species.

O mighty and once living instrument of formative nature. Incapable of availing thyself of thy vast strength thou hast to abandon a life of stillness and to obey the law which God and time gave to procreative nature.

O sleepers! what a thing is slumber! Sleep resembles death. Ah, why then dost thou not work in such wise as that after death thou mayst retain a resemblance to perfect life, when, during life, thou art in sleep so like to the hapless dead?

Every loss which we incur leaves behind it vexation in the memory, save the greatest loss of all, that is, death, which annihilates the memory, together with life.