It is possible to provide security against other ills, but as far as death is concerned, we men live in a city without walls.
The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living to do so for them.
The timing of death, like the ending of a story, gives a changed meaning to what preceded it.
Time rushes towards us with its hospital tray of infinitely varied narcotics, even while it is preparing us for its inevitably fatal operation.
Death is the last enemy: once we’ve got past that I think everything will be alright.