I enjoy life. I think I'll enjoy death even more. Life is too confusing.
When I see a large group of people, I wonder how many of them will eventually require autopsies.
I don't believe in reincarnation. That's a cop-out. . . . I anticipate death will be a totally unconscious void in which you float through eternity with no particular consciousness of anything.
You need language for thought, and you need language to anticipate death. There is no abstract thought without language and no anticipation. I think the anticipation of death without language would be impossible.
All my life people have been waiting around to watch me die.
Even at our birth, death does but stand aside a little. And every day he looks towards us and muses somewhat to himself whether that day or the next he will draw nigh.
Instead of joyfully looking forward to my birth, my mother began systematically preparing for her own death. She was fatalistic.
