No one wants to die,” said Becka. “But some people don’t want to live in any of the ways that are allowed.

He had no wish to be killed by a bogle in which he resolutely did not believe.

He That kills himself to avoid misery, fears it, And, at the best, shows but a bastard valour. This life's a fort committed to my trust, Which I must not yield up till it be forc'd. —Nor will I. He's not valiant that dares die, But he that boldly bears calamity.

We don't want anyone in society to be in danger because of these criminals, but we don't think that death is the answer. Killing them because they have killed would perpetuate the cycle of violence.

They were afraid of dying but even more afraid to show it.

We would not let ourselves be burned to death for our opinions: we are not sure enough of them for that.

“I shall not be killed!” The count smiled scornfully, as if death were something that only others suffered.

Perhaps the greatest and most disastrous of all the taboos that we erect for ourselves is the fear of what our neighbours will say. There are many men and women who appear to live only in order that they may be talked about; at least that is what one must infer from the way in which they bring everything to this as to a touchstone. The one and only criterion which they apply with regard to any course of action is the impression which it will make upon their neighbours. They never ask themselves, “ Is it right or wrong for me to do this?” but “What will Mrs. Jones say if I do this?” This is perhaps the most terrible form of slavery under which a human being can suffer, and yet to obtain freedom from it it is only necessary to assert it. What other people say can make to us only such difference as we ourselves choose to allow it to make. We have but to realise within ourselves that it does not in the least matter what anybody says, and at once we are perfectly free. This is a lesson which the occultist must learn

I don't want to kill you.

It is not death therefore that is burdensome, but the fear of death.

"And after all, one does not die of it." "Die of what?" I asked swiftly. "Of being afraid."

They can't hurt me. Sure, they can crush you and kill you. They can lay you out on 42nd and Broadway and put hoses on you and flush you in the sewers and put you on the subway and carry you out to Coney island and bury you on the Ferris wheel. But I refuse to sit here and worry about dying.

I would never die for my beliefs because I might be wrong.

You are afraid to die; what! are you alive now?