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Fling but a stone, the giant dies.
I do not agree with what you have to say, but I’ll defend to the death your right to say it.
If physical death is the price that I must pay to free my white brothers and sisters from a permanent death of the spirit, then nothing can be more redemptive.
Death borders upon our birth, and our cradle stands in the grave.
The words of a dead man are modified in the guts of the living.
Man dies of cold, not of darkness.
All architects want to live beyond their deaths.
If you don’t have any fight in you, you might as well be dead.
Even at our birth, death does but stand aside a little. And every day he looks towards us and muses somewhat to himself whether that day or the next he will draw nigh.
Death’s in the good-bye.