Life serves the food, and Death always shows up to the banquet, like an univited guest with nothing in hand to contribute, just to devour everything then leave.

Live a little or die a lot. The choice is hours.

I heard death had a name, but I forgot what it was.

May your sleep be your death, and your wakefulness be your heaven.

It seems when Opportunity knocks, Fate shows up to open the door.

The mint from your breath, the milk from your breast, the best of your mind, now in its worst state of condition. From the womb to the tomb, as a mild flower, you break your petals upon blossom, and seize death openly. Leaving your fragrance to spin and dance, one last time before being blown away.

The rich eat life, the poor eat death; so what is the problem they ask?

Death always has its finger, in the hands of life.

Poverty is like a crumb that sits at a table, and starves itself to death.