Other than the promise of life after death, nothing consoles the poor better than the fact that rich people are also subject to death.

Happiness is merely a consolation for not yet being dead.

Making God a man is the consolation prize that our forefathers gave themselves for not being the ones who were each blessed with a vagina.

Death devours not only those who have been cooked by old age; it also feasts on those who are half-cooked and even those who are raw.

It is our natural and moral duty as consumers of other living things to someday die.

Not everything happens for a reason; we claim that it does for a reason: to console ourselves.

Not having expected an event makes it seem way better or worse than it really is.