The whole image is that eternal suffering awaits anyone who questions God's infinite love. That's the message we're brought up with, isn't it? Believe or die! Thank you, forgiving Lord, for all those options.

The language of love letters is the same as suicide notes.

How could you go about choosing something that would hold the half of your heart you had to bury?

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved.

Sweets to the sweet.

You will be the first test subject, Tobias. Beatrice, however.... She smiles. You are too injured to be of much use to me, so your execution will occur at the conclusion of this meeting.I try to hide the shudder that goes through me at the word execution, my shoulder screaming with pain, and look up at Tobias. It's hard to blink tears back when I see the terror in Tobias's wide, dark eyes.No, says Tobias. His voice trembles, but his look stern as he shakes his head. I would rather die.I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice in that matter, replies Jeanine lightly.Tobias takes my face in this hands roughly and kisses me, the pressure of his lips pushing mine apart. I forget my pain and the terror of approaching death and for a moment, I am grateful that the memory of that kiss will be fresh in my mind as I meet my end.

People die, I think, but your relationship with them doesn't. It continues and is ever-changing.

Every widow wakes one morning, perhaps after years of pure and unwavering grieving, to realize she slept a good night's sleep, and will be able to eat breakfast, and doesn't hear her husband's ghost all the time, but only some of the time. Her grief is replaced with a useful sadness. Every parent who loses a child finds a way to laugh again. The timbre begins to fade. The edge dulls. The hurt lessens. Every love is carved from loss. Mine was. Yours is. Your great-great-great-grandchildren's will be. But we learn to live in that love.

What greater thing is there for two human souls, than to feel that they are joined for life--to strengthen each other in all labor, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting?

Once you die, that's it – game over.

Death is the ultimate cessation of the individual Self.

Once you die, that's it – game over. Death is the ultimate cessation of the individual Self.

Death is not our destiny. Longing for true love is our true destiny. That is where we will find the ultimate meaning of life.

Through Christ, the sting of death is but a gentle pinch to the soul; and the mourn is light. Perhaps, someday, in that glorious place, free of sin, we shall meet again.

With a hint of good judgment, to fear nothing, not failure or suffering or even death, indicates that you value life the most. You live to the extreme; you push limits; you spend your time building legacies. Those do not die.

Pride and power fall when the person falls, but discoveries of truth form legacies that can be built upon for generations.

As individuals die every moment, how insensitive and fabricated a love it is to set aside a day from selfish routine in prideful, patriotic commemoration of tragedy. Just as God is provoked by those who tithe simply because they feel that they must tithe, I am provoked by those who commemorate simply because they feel that they must commemorate.

Life is eternal; and love is immortal; and death is only a horizon; and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.

Life and death are but phases of the same thing, the reverse and obverse of the same coin. Death is as necessary for man's growth as life itself.

I answer the heroic question Death, where is thy sting? with It is here in my heart and mind and memories.