At the moment of death I hope to be surprised.
Death is someone you see very clearly with eyes in the center of your heart: eyes that see not by reacting to light, but by reacting to a kind of a chill from within the marrow of your own life.
Why is it that we rejoice at a birth and grieve at a funeral? It is because we are not the person involved.
Know one knows whether death, which people fear to be the greatest evil, may not be the greatest good.
Die? I should say not, dear fellow. No Barrymore would allow such a conventional thing to happen to him.
When you’re wounded and left on Afghanistan’s plains, and the women come out to cut up what remains, jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains and go to your gawd like a soldier.
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