Somewhere, in desolate, wind-swept space,
In twilight land, in no man's land,
Two hurrying shapes met face read more

Somewhere, in desolate, wind-swept space,
In twilight land, in no man's land,
Two hurrying shapes met face to face
And bade each other stand.
"And who are you?" cried one, a-gape,
Shuddering in the glimmering light.
"I know not," said the second shape,
"I only died last night."

Death is the universal salt of states;
Blood is the base of all things--law and war.

Death is the universal salt of states;
Blood is the base of all things--law and war.

Go thou, deceased, to this earth which is a mother, and spacious
and kind. May her touch be soft read more

Go thou, deceased, to this earth which is a mother, and spacious
and kind. May her touch be soft like that of wool, or a young
woman, and may she protect thee from the depths of destruction.
Rise above him, O Earth, do not press painfully on him, give him
good things, give him consolation, as a mother covers her child
with her cloth, cover thou him.

I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the ordeal of meeting me is another read more

I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the ordeal of meeting me is another matter.

Don't strew me with roses after I'm dead. When Death claims the light of my brow No flowers of life read more

Don't strew me with roses after I'm dead. When Death claims the light of my brow No flowers of life will cheer me: instead You may give me my roses now!

The idea is to die young as late as possible.

The idea is to die young as late as possible.

Death would not be called bad, O people, if one knew how to truly die.

Death would not be called bad, O people, if one knew how to truly die.

Boy, when you are dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has read more

Boy, when you are dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a god dam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you are dead? Nobody.

A man does not die of love or his liver or even of old age; he dies of being a read more

A man does not die of love or his liver or even of old age; he dies of being a man.