Omnia mutantur; nihil interit

His eyes that swam in death's dark night looked roundFor Athis, and he lay down by his side,Solaced among the shades to share his death.

what we call birth iswhen something first changes out of its former condition,and what we call death is when its identity ceases;things may perhaps be translated hither and thither;nevertheless, they stay constant in their sum total

What we call birth Is but a beginning to be something else Than what we were before; and when we cease To be that something, then we call it death.

O fool, what else is sleep but chill death's likeness?

A new idea is delicate. It can be killed by a sneer or a yawn; it can be stabbed to death by a quip and worried to death by a frown on the right man's brow.

An evil life is a kind of death.

Thus all things altered. Nothing dies. And here and there the unbodied spirit flies.

Man should ever look to his last day, and no one should be called happy before his funeral. [Lat., Ultima semper Expectanda dies homini est, dicique beatus Ante obitum nemo et suprema funera debet.]