Forget your heaven, and your hell aswell. Cast out your morbid doubt and sleep a hundered years. The inevitable end will find you in your blindness. It will seek you in your slumber, in the numbness of your sweet denial and defile you, dim dreamer. And when death takes you, you will not awake elsewhere for there is no believer's bliss. There is one eternal certinty and that is the abyss.

Humans are born, then they die. Thus is it better to not have been born at all?

I looked over at Augustus Waters, who looked back at me. You could almost see through his eyes they were so blue. "There will come a time," I said, "when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed for that our species ever did anything. There will be no one left to remember Aristotle or Cleopatra, let alone you.

Much as oblivion is the death of sorrow
So death is life's forgetfulness

…everything we do is decent when the mind begins to forget — the design of life; and good when we are forgotten — the design of death.

I mean, they say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.