Oh! snatched away in beautys bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year. – Lord (George Gordon) Byron

Here take back the stuff that I am, nature, knead it back into the dough of being, make of me a bush, a cloud, whatever you will, even a man, only no longer make me. – G. C. (Georg Christoph) Lichtenberg

It is the part of cowardliness, and not of virtue, to seek to squat itself in some hollow lurking hole, or to hide herself under some massive tomb, thereby to shun the strokes of fortune. – Michel de Montaigne

The obsession with suicide is characteristic of the man who can neither live nor die, and whose attention never swerves from this double impossibility. – E. M. Cioran