There is no worse bitterness than to reach the end of your life and realized you have not lived.

Life is absolutely unbearable. And we're going to die.

For the first time in my life I tasted death, and death tasted bitter, for death is birth, is fear and dread of some terrible renewal.

To die for lack of love is horrible. The asphyxia of the soul.

When there is no hope in the future, the present appears atrociously bitter.

Its very memory gives a shape to fear. Death could scarce be more bitter than that place!

It is hard to die unmourned.

The idea that one will die is more painful than dying, but less painful than the idea that another person is dead, that, becoming once more a still, plane surface after having engulfed a person, a reality extends, without even a ripple at the point of disappearance from which that person is excluded, in which there no longer exists any will, any knowledge, and from which it is as difficult to reascend to the idea that that person has lived as, from the still recent memory of his life, it is to think that he is comparable with the insubstantial images, the memories, left us by the characters in a novel we have been reading.

You know, what's so dreadful about dying is that you are completely on your own.

A horribly bitter taste came into his mouth: the futility of everything, the eternal pain of existence.

Death followed by eternity the worst of both worlds. It is a terrible thought.

Nothing's worse than saying goodbye. It's a little like dying.

But it is impossible for anyone to say ‘I am sacrificing myself’ without feeling bitterness.

To accept a little death is worse than death itself.