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“I, even I, am he who comforts you. Who are you, that you are afraid of man who shall die, and of the son of man who will be made as grass?

For Yahweh has comforted Zion. He has comforted all her waste places, and has made her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of Yahweh. Joy and gladness will be found in them, thanksgiving, and the voice of melody.

Yet a little while, and the world will see me no more; but you will see me. Because I live, you will live also.

In my Father’s house are many homes. If it weren’t so, I would have told you. I am going to prepare a place for you.

If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will receive you to myself; that where I am, you may be there also.

I have put my trust in God. I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?

You count my wanderings. You put my tears into your container. Aren’t they in your book?

Formerly, I thought that death was wearing out,--I stood ramparted about with so many healthy friends.

Whatsoever thwarts, or puts me out of my way, brings death into my mind.

As death, therefore, is hanging over our head every hour, how can a man ever be unshaken in soul if he fears it?

Fear proceeds from the same things when absent which occasion grief when present.

Death, like birth, is a mystery of nature; the one a compounding of elements, the other a resolution into the same.

For death also is one piece of the business of life, and, here as elsewhere, it is enough to do well what comes to our hand.

To the man who is penetrated with true principles, the shortest, the most common hint is a sufficient memorial to keep him free of sorrow and fear.

Again, in taking away our friends, death does not take them away utterly, but leaves behind a mocking, tragical, and soon intolerable residue, which must be hurriedly concealed.

It is the pang of parting, the unloosing our grasp, the breaking asunder some strong tie, the leaving some cherished purpose unfulfilled, that creates the repugnance to go

Perhaps the best cure for the fear of death is to reflect that life has a beginning as well as an end.

The most rational cure after all for the inordinate fear of death is to set a just value on life.

There was a time when we were not: this gives us no concern--why, then, should it trouble us that a time will come when we shall cease to be?

Not childhood alone, but the young man till thirty, never feels practically that he is mortal.

The absolute power of this distant old master had touched my young spirit with but the point of its cold, cruel iron, and left me something to brood over after the play and in moments of repose.