Relations are simply a tedious pack of people, who haven't the remotest knowledge of how to live, nor the smallest instinct about when to die

And the wild regrets and the bloody sweats None knew so well as I: That he who lives more lives than one, More deaths than one shall die.

For he who lives more lives than one - More deaths than one must die

He did not wear his scarlet coat, For blood and wine are red, And blood and wine were on his hands When they found him with the dead, The poor dead woman whom he loved, And murdered in her bed

And now, I am dying beyond my means. [Sipping champagne on his deathbed]

What is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying.