Death, so called, is a thing which makes men
weep, and yet a third of life is passed in
sleep.
-- Lord Byron
1788-1824,
British Poet
For the sword outwears its sheath, and the soul
wears out the breast. And the heart must pause
to breathe, and love itself have rest.
-- Lord Byron
1788-1824,
British Poet
I
have seen a thousand graves opened, and always
perceived that whatever was gone, the teeth and
hair remained of those who had died with them.
Is not this odd? They go the very first things
in youth and yet last the longest in the dust.
-- Lord Byron
1788-1824,
British Poet
Men are convinced of your arguments, your
sincerity, and the seriousness of your efforts
only by your death.
-- Albert Camus
1913-1960, French
Existential Writer
