Spreuken over Dood

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Millions long for immortality who don't know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.
No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow.
Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.
Pale Death beats equally at the poor man's gate and at the palaces of kings.
Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.