Like pilgrims to th’appointed place we tend;
The world’s an inn, and death the journey’s end. John Dryden, Palemon and Arcite III
And dying, bless the hand that gave the blow. John Dryden, The Spanish Friar
I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute. John Keats
‘If I should die,’ said I to myself, ‘I have left no immortal work behind me.’ John Keats
I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave – thank God for the quiet grave – O! I can feel the cold earth upon me – the daisies growing over me – O for this quiet – it will be my first. John Keats
The sculptured dead, on each side, seem to freeze,
Emprisoned in black, purgatorial rails. John Keats, The Eve of St Agnes, 1820
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 musèd rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy! John Keats
Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough
It isn’t fit for humans now,
There isn’t grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death! John Betjeman, Slough, 1937
She died in the upstairs bedroom
By the light of the ev’ning star
That shone through the plate glass window
From over Lemington Spa. John Betjeman, Death in Lemington
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality. Emily Dickinson, The Chariot
The Bustle in a House
The Morning after Death
In solemnest of industries
Enacted upon Earth –
The Sweeping up the Heart
And putting Love away
We shall not want to use again
Until Eternity. Emily Dickinson, The Bustle in a House, 1866
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Death has something to be said for it:
There’s no need to get out of bed for it;
Wherever you may be,
They bring it to you for free. Kingsley Amis, 1922-1995
To die will be an awfully big adventure. J M Barrie, 1860-1937
Many men would take the death-sentence without a whimper to escape the life-sentence which fate carries in her own hand. T E Lawrence, The Mint, 1955
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentrated all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung. Walter Scott, The Lady of the Last Minstrel, 1905
And, come he slow, or come he fast,
It is but Death who comes at last. Walter Scott, Marmion, 1808
I want death to find me planting my cabbages, but caring little for it, and even less about the imperfections of my garden. Michel Eyquem de Montaigne, Essais, 1580
The ceaseless labour of your life is to build the house of death. ibid.
The value of life lies not in the length of days but in the use you make of them; he has lived for a long time who has little lived. Whether you have lived enough depends not on the number of your years but on your will. ibid.
What I like about Clive
Is that he is no longer alive.
There is a good deal to be said
For being dead. Edmund Clerihew Bentley, 1875-1956, Biography for Beginners, 1905
I did but see him, and he disappeared,
I did but touch the rosebud, and it fell;
A sorrow unforeseen and scarcely feared,
So ill can mortals their afflictions spell. Katherine Philips, 1655
Nor dread nor hope attend
A dying animal;
A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all. W B Yeats, Death, 1933
O death! the poor man’s dearest friend,
The kindest and the best! Robert Burns
Death must be distinguished from dying, with which it is often confused. Sydney Smith
Many count the years since their conversion, but their lives often show little sign of improvement. If it is dreadful to die, it is perhaps more dangerous to live long. Happy is the man who keeps the hour of death always in mind, and daily prepares himself to die. Thomas a Kempis
Call no man happy before he dies, he is at best but fortunate. Solon, Athenian statesman & poet
Death! Great proprietor of all! ’Tis thine
To tread out empire, and to quench the stars. Edward Young, 1742-5, Night Thoughts
Hot, envious, noisy, proud, the scribbling fry
Burn, hiss, and bounce, waste paper, stink, and die. Edward Young, 1725-8, The Love of Fame
When I am dead know how many times I have kissed and cried over this. Charles Darwin
We have lost the joy of the household and the solace of our old age. Charles Darwin, re death of beloved daughter Annie from painful bout of Scarlet Fever
Either this man is dead or my watch has stopped. Groucho Marx
I’m not afraid of death. I’m afraid of dying. I shall be very glad to be dead. Gilbert Harding, interview BBC 1960
I would much rather be dead than alive. ibid.
But I have lived, and have not lived in vain:
My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire,
And my frame perish even in conquering pain;
But there is that within me which shall tire
Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire. Lord Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
Without a grave, unknelled, unconfined and unknown. ibid.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed. Lord Byron, The Destruction of Sennacherib