It is nothing to die. It is frightful not to live.
Our life dreams the Utopia. Our death achieves the Ideal.
My day's work will begin again the next morning. The tomb is not a blind alley.
It seems as though, at the approach of a certain dark hour, the light of heaven infills those who are leaving the light of earth.
Oh Lord! Open the doors of night for me So that I may leave this place and disappear.
Death belongs to God alone; by what right do men touch that unknown thing?
In every cradle decked with rosy wreath Lurk germs of death.
A few feet under the ground reigns so profound a silence, and yet so much tumult on the surface!
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