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Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince; / And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

There is no Death! What seems so is transition; / This life of mortal breath / Is but a suburb of the life Elysian, / Whose portal we call Death.
I am, and always have been, pro-death. I’m pro-death penalty; I’m pro-choice; I’m pro-assisted suicide; I’m pro-regular suicide—I’m for anything that gets the freeway moving faster.
Death … / … suddenly breathes out: / it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets, / and the beds go sailing toward a port / where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.
Down you mongrel, Death! / Back into your kennel!
He whispered craftily to me, for the hundredth, the thousandth time, that now was the time to help him die.
How do men act, when they together stand, on the last perch of this swiftly-sinking wreck? / Do they not bravely give their parting cheer, / And make their last voice loud and boldly sound / Amidst the hollow roarings of the storm?
You haven’t lived until you’ve died in California.
Death seems to provide the minds of the Anglo-Saxon race with a greater fund of amusement than any other single subject.
After all, there are worse things in life than death. If you’ve ever spent an evening with an insurance salesman, you know what I’m talking about.
Death is the final stage of growth in this life. There is no total death. Only the body dies. The self or spirit, or whatever you may wish to label it, is eternal.
It is so hard for us little human beings to accept this deal that we get. It’s really crazy, isn’t it? We get to live, then we have to die. What we put into every moment is all we have.
I will leave behind me the dark ravine, and climb up gentler slopes toward that spiritual mesa where at last a wide light will fall upon my days. From there I will sing words of hope, without looking into my heart. As one who was full of compassion wished: I will sing to console men.
I reason, Earth is short— / And Anguish— absolute— / And many hurt, / But, what of that?
There is no solution to death … Life intends to kill us.
I suppose there is no man who to-day loves his country who has not perceived that in the life of the nation, as in the life of the individual, the hour of external success may be the hour of irrevocable failure, and that the hour of death, whether to nations or individuals, is often the hour of immortality.
The child had been like a strap that held them close. Now, unbuckled, they had to struggle to keep together.
How replace the life of a loved lost child with a dream?
It’s a terrible thing to die young. Still, it saves a lot of time.
We are all cremated equal.
Always go to other peoples’ funerals otherwise they won’t go to yours.
I’ve a great fancy to see my own funeral afore I die.
The woman is perfected / Her dead / Body wears the smile of accomplishment.
Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs.
Their lives are in my heart / but my love grows as I see more / the roots of their wrongs and hopes.
No one seems to have said that it was an appropriate death though we know that all deaths are appropriate.
A grave is such a quiet place.
It is not the end of the physical body that should worry us. Rather, our concern must be to live while we’re alive—to release our inner selves from the spiritual death that comes with living behind a façade designed to conform to external definitions of who and what we are.
… it’s wrong what they say about the past, I’ve learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out.
Not with a Club, the Heart is broken / Nor with a Stone— / A Whip so small you could not see it / I’ve known / To lash the Magic Creature / Till it fell.
It’s not that I’m afraid to die, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.
I have never thought there was much to be said in favour of dragging on long after all one’s friends were dead.
If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn’t brood. I’d type a little faster.
Trust not thyself till the day of thy death.
The years seem to rush by now, and I think of death as a fast approaching end of a journey—double and treble reason for loving as well as working while it is day.
The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.
I contemplate death as though I were continuing after its arrival. I, therefore, survive since I can contemplate myself afterward as well as before.
Now twilight lets her curtain down / And pins it with a star.
Dying seems less sad than having lived too little.
Oh, everything is gorgeous once it’s gone.
… all that she had had, and all that she had missed, were lost together, and were twice lost in this landslide of remembered losses.
The heart once broken is a heart no more, / And is absolved from all a heart must be.
Spring will not ail nor summer falter; / Nothing will know that you are gone ….
Think not that I have come in quest of common flowers; but rather to bemoan the loss of one whose scent has vanished from the air.
Mostly only loss teaches us about the value of things.
In loss itself / I find assuagement: / having lost the treasure, / I’ve nothing to fear.
It will take mind and memory months and possibly years to gather together the details and thus learn and know the whole extent of the loss.
We lose not only through death, but also by leaving and being left, by changing and letting go and moving on. And our losses include not only our separations and departures from those we love, but our conscious and unconscious losses of romantic dreams, impossible expectations, illusions of freedom and power, illusions of safety—and the loss of our own younger self, the self that thought it would always be unwrinkled and invulnerable and immortal.
… I was never one to leave anything. I had trouble parting with our old ’78 Buick.
Personal size and mental sorrow have certainly no necessary proportions. A large bulky figure has as good a right to be in deep affliction as the most graceful set of limbs in the world. But, fair or not fair, there are unbecoming conjunctions, which… taste cannot tolerate—which ridicule will seize.
I think it’s time for a real woman who has led a real life to re-design Barbie …. Her hips could start out at a normal size and then quietly expand over the years while she remained powerless to do anything about it …. Are you listening, Mattel?
The moon lives in the lining of your skin.
I don’t know what my mother-in-law’s measurements are. We haven’t had her surveyed yet.
It used to be said that by a certain age a man had the face that he deserved. Nowadays, he has the face he can afford.
I pick up the magazines. I buy into the ideal. I believe that blond, flat girls have the secret. What is far more frightening than narcissism is the zeal for self-mutilation that is spreading, infecting the world.
Be bold and LOVE YOUR BODY. STOP FIXING IT. It was never broken.
Don’t worry about your heart, it will last you as long as you live.
The least you can do is recuperate!
A doctor’s reputation is made by the number of eminent men who die under his care.
Every affliction has its own rich lesson to teach, if we would learn it.
A junky runs on junk time. When his junk is cut off, the clock runs down and stops. All he can do is hang on and wait for non-junk time to start.
In those days, all I did, when I wasn’t taking pills (speed, Ritalin especially) all day, was drink all night.
All sin tends to be addictive, and the terminal point of addiction is what is called damnation.
Why, if it wasn’t for psychoanalysis you’d never find out how wonderful your own mind is!
Incidentally, why was it that none of all the pious ever discovered psycho-analysis? Why did it have to wait for a completely godless Jew?
Psychotherapy can be one of the greatest and most rewarding adventures, it can bring with it the deepest feelings of personal worth, of purpose and richness in living.
My therapist told me the way to achieve true inner peace is to finish what I start. So far today, I have finished two bags of M&M’s and a chocolate cake. I feel better already.
Psychotherapy, unlike castor oil, which will work no matter how you get it down, is useless when forced on an uncooperative patient.
He had been in analysis for seven years and he regarded life as a long disease, alleviated by little fifty-minute bloodlettings of words from the couch.
You can be down, you can even be broken, but there’s always a way to mend.
It is through suppression that hells are formed in us.
Before I went into analysis, I told everyone lies—but when you spend all that money, you tell the truth….
The last four years of psychoanalysis are a waste of money.
Psychotherapy has taught us that in the final reckoning it is not knowledge, not technical skill, that has a curative effect, but the personality of the doctor.
We serve the patient in various functions, as an authority and a substitute for his parents, as a teacher and educator.
I am always running into peoples’ unconscious.
Sunday—the doctor’s paradise! Doctors at country clubs, doctors at the seaside, doctors with mistresses, doctors with wives, doctors in church, doctors in yachts, doctors everywhere resolutely being people, not doctors.
He who advises a sick man, whose manner of life is prejudicial to health, is clearly bound first of all to change his patient’s manner of life.
Besides the obstinancy of the nurse, I had the ignorance of the physicians to contend with.
No man, not even a doctor, ever gives any other definition of what a nurse should be than this—“devoted and obedient.” This definition would do just as well for a porter. It might even do for a horse. It would not do for a policeman.
Man seems to be a rickety poor sort of a thing, any way you take him; a kind of British Museum of infirmities and inferiorities. He is always undergoing repairs. A machine that was as unreliable as he is would have no market.
After two days in hospital, I took a turn for the nurse.
The planet’s tyrant, dotard Death, had held his gray mirror before them for a moment and shown them the image of things to come.
One always dies too soon—or too late.
life’s not a paragraph / And death i think is no parenthesis
Dawn comes slowly but dusk is rapid.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.
Pardon me for not getting up.
So few people achieve the final end. Most are caught napping.
It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.
To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.
Nothing is more difficult than to understand the dead, I’ve found; but nothing is more dangerous than to ignore them.
Death unites as well as separates; it silences all paltry feeling.
I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind—and that of the minds who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town.
Self-trust is the first secret of success.
“Medicine seems to be all cycles,” continued Mrs. Hartshorn. “That’s the bone I pick with Sloan. Like what’s his name’s new theory of history. First we nursed our babies; then science told us not to. Now it tells us we were right in the first place. Or were we wrong then but would be right now? Reminds me of relativity, if I understand Mr. Einstein.”
My health is so often impaired that I begin to be as weary of it as mending old lace; when it is patched in one place, it breaks out in another.
“And how are you?” said Winnie-the-Pooh …. // “Not very how,” he said. “I don’t seem to have felt at all how for a long time.”
My sore throats are always worse than everyone’s.
Next to gold and jewelry, health is the most important thing you can have.
We currently have a system for taking care of sickness. We do not have a system for enhancing and promoting health.
My HMO is so expensive, they charge me for a self-breast exam. It’s a flat fee.
Human beings are divided into mind and body. The mind embraces all the nobler aspirations, like poetry and philosophy, but the body has all the fun.
Men’s bodies are the most dangerous things on earth.
If God made the body and the body is dirty, the fault lies with the manufacturer.
Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.
I think of my illness as a school, and finally I’ve graduated.
Illness sets the mind free sometimes to roam and surmise.
Back in my rummy days, I would tremble and shake for hours upon arising. It was the only exercise I got.
The first time I see a jogger smiling, I’ll consider it.
The mind and the heart sometimes get another chance, but if anything happens to the poor old human frame, why, it’s just out of luck, that’s all.
As in a theater and circus the statues of the king must be kept clean by him to whom they have been entrusted, so the bathing of the body is a duty of man, who was created in the image of the almighty King of the world.
I am for lifting everyone off the social bottom. In fact, I am for doing away with the social bottom altogether.
Without frugality none can be rich, and with it very few would be poor.
If you don’t want to work, you have to work to earn enough money so that you won’t have to work.
And blessed are the horny hands of toil.
When you’re poor, you grow up fast.
The growth of entrepreneurial classes throughout the world is an asset in the promotion of human rights and individual liberty, and it should be understood and used as such.
You don’t seem to realize that a poor person who is unhappy is in a better position than a rich person who is unhappy. Because the poor person has hope. He thinks money would help.
Work is life, you know, and without it, there’s nothing but fear and insecurity.
Could we have the vision of doing away in this great country with poverty? … That would be one of the very best arguments against Communism that we could possibly have.
A career is born in public—talent in privacy.
You can’t eat eight hours a day nor drink for eight hours a day nor make love for eight hours—all you can do for eight hours is work. Which is the reason why man makes himself and everybody else so miserable and unhappy.
There are two times in a man’s life when he should not speculate: when he can’t afford it, and when he can.
Money doesn’t bring courage, I learned. It’s the other way around.
Success in investing doesn’t correlate with I.Q. once you’re above the level of 25. Once you have ordinary intelligence, what you need is the temperament to control the urges that get other people into trouble in investing.
The way to become rich is to make money, my dear Edna, not to save it ….
You see those charts that say if you put away $500 a year starting at age 20, by the time you’re 50, you’d have a gazillion dollars? It just makes you ill that you didn’t do it.
… money … is really the difference between men and animals, most of the things men feel animals feel and vice versa, but animals do not know about money, money is a purely human conception and that is very important to know very very important.
Dogs have no money. Isn’t that amazing? They’re broke their entire lives. But they get through. You know why dogs have no money? No pockets.
Our economic dependence depended on individual initiative. It depended on a belief in the free market; but it has also depended on our sense of mutual regard for each other, the idea that everybody has a stake in the country, that we’re all in it together and everybody’s got a shot at opportunity.
The stock market is a no-called-strike game. You don’t have to swing at everything—you can wait for your pitch. The problem when you’re a money manager is that your fans keep yelling, “Swing, you bum!”
Let’s kill two birds with one loan!
Neither a borrower nor a lender be: / For loan oft loses both itself and friend.
The banks have a new image. Now you have “a friend,” your friendly bank. If the banks are so friendly, how come they chain down the pens?
The state of the union is that money talks and public policy is sold to the highest bidder.
Money only appeals to selfishness and always tempts its owners irresistibly to abuse it. // Can anyone imagine Moses, Jesus, or Gandhi armed with the money-bags of Carnegie?
The average family exists only on paper and its average budget is a fiction, invented by statisticians for the convenience of statisticians.
The IRS sent back my tax return saying I owed $800. I said, “If you’ll notice, I sent a paper clip with my return. Given what you’ve been paying for things lately, that should more than make up the difference.”
… that’s nothing but a tax dodge! … This is what the Internal Revenue Service expects. It’s all part of the game. They play their part, we have to play ours. It’s our duty as American citizens!
I have only one thing to say to the tax increasers: Go ahead, make my day!
Keeping accounts, Sir, is of no use when a man is spending his own money, and has nobody to whom he is to account. You won’t eat less beef today, because you have written down what it cost yesterday.
I’m a middle-bracket person with a middle-bracket spouse / And we live together gaily in a middle-bracket house. / We’ve a fair-to-middlin’ family; we take the middle view; / So we’re manna sent from heaven to internal revenue.
President Bush says he now wants to simplify the tax code. Only those in the blue states will pay.
New rule: If churches don’t have to pay taxes, they also can’t call the fire department when they catch fire. Sorry reverend, that’s one of those services that goes along with paying in. I’ll use the fire department I pay for. You can pray for rain.
It’s my absolute opinion that in our complex industrial society, no business enterprise can succeed without sharing the burden of the problems of other enterprises.
I’ve made it my business to make business my business.
What most people don’t seem to realize is that there is just as much money to be made out of the wreckage of a civilization as from the upbuilding of one.
Most of the rich people I’ve known have been fairly miserable.
Choosing wealth as a goal requires facing everything about your money bravely, honestly, with courage—which is a very, very hard thing for most of us to do.

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