Death is dawn, the waking from a weary night of fevers unto truth and light. We should weep for men at their birth, not at their death. I hate funerals and would not attend my own if it could be avoided, but it is well for every man to stop once in a while to think of what sort of a collection of mourners he is training for his final event. Every man goes down to his death bearing in his hands only that which he has given away. When the body sinks into death, the essence of man is revealed.
Man is a knot, a web, a mesh into which relationships are tied.
Only those relationships matter. The body is an old crock that nobody will miss. I have never known a man to think of himself when dying. No, it is the final awakening. It can only be denied.