Death is a very dull, dreary affair, and my advice to you is to have nothing whatsoever to do with it.

Perfection has one grave defect: it is apt to be dull.

Perfection is a trifle dull. It is not the least of life's ironies that this, which we all aim at, is better not quite achieved.

Death is a very dull, dreary affair, and my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it.

I know that I shall die struggling for breath, and I know that I shall be horribly afraid. I know that I shall not be able to keep myself from regretting bitterly the life that has brought me to such a pass; but I disown that regret. I now, weak, old, diseased, poor, dying, hold still my soul in my hands, and I regret nothing.

Dying is a very dull, dreary affair. And my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it.