Love burns. Whiskey burns. George Burns. What do all three have in common? They’re all dead to me.

She had died at age twelve, and by now she was nothing but the memory of love-- nothing, now, but bones.

This is where the evening splits in half, Henry, love or death. Grab an end, pull hard, and make a wish.

This world's a city full of straying streets, and death's the market-place where each one meets.

Even when our death is imminent, we carry the image of ourselves moving forward, alive, into the future.

Oh God, Oh God we’re all gonna die doesn’t really fit the definition of banter, now does it?

Whatever is destroyed, the act of destruction does not vary much. Beauty if vapour from the pit of death.

Je reste optimiste tout en me préparant au pire, maman, ça te semble bien comme compromis ?

Death, especially violent death, will turn the meanest bastard in the world into a nice guy. Why is that?

Here is one of the worst things about having someone you love die: It happens again every single morning.

Excuse me," she said politely. "But you can't have him. Not yet. He's going to come back with me.

Two turtle doves will show theeWhere my cold ashes lieAnd sadly murmuring tell theeHow in tears I did die

I’m willing to die for my beliefs, but over the course of a lifetime and not all at once right now.

Flowers that grow where old ones have withered serve to remind us that death will one day come to us all.

Here is a minute. It may be my love is dead, but here is a minute to kneel over the grave and pray by it.