“We’re going to die. Aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. Before morning?”
“Oh, no! I feel sure we can live till noon.”

Before lunch, and ultimately recess, I need you to know - you're going to die.

Just a sort of unexplained sadness that comes each afternoon when the new day is gone forever and there’s nothing ahead but increasing darkness.

You make to die You are the dead You the assassin of yourself.

I'm an afternoon person.

If I were to die tomorrow, would I be doing what I’m about to do today?

I gestured at my litre of fizzy red wine. “Want a drop of this?” I asked him.
No thanks. I try not to drink at lunchtime.”
So do I. But I never quite make it.”
I feel like shit all day if I drink at lunchtime.”
Me too. But I feel like shit all lunchtime if I don’t.”
Yes, well it all comes down to choices, doesn’t it?” he said. “It’s the same in the evenings. Do you want to feel good at night or do you want to feel good in the morning? It’s the same with life. Do you want to feel good young or do you want to feel good old? One or the other, not both.”
Isn’t it a tragedy?

Today will die tomorrow.

It's a breath you took too late.
It's a death that's worse than fate.

If you were to wake up only for a moment you would kill me for having made you.

If I could predict what my day would exactly look like, I would feel a little bit dead.

So you’re saying that I could die at any moment!” “Yes. And this is different from your life yesterday in what way?

Thou oughtest in every deed and thought so to order thyself, as if thou wert to die this day.

Do all your work as though you had a thousand years to live; and as you would if you knew you must die tomorrow.