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Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of men?
There is no fair. There is no justice. There is just me.
It's a Mr. Death or something. He's come about the reaping. Honestly, I don't think we need any!
That night, a man was killed by a speeding car and I was there to take his soul. The street on which he died turned into a flowing river of light, and he hesitated at its banks. I told him to take a deep breath as if its the last one you will ever take, because sometimes in life, or in death I guess, you just never know.
—Georgia Lass, Dead Like Me, "Rest In Peace"
When the first living thing existed, I was there, waiting. When the last living thing dies, my job is finished. I'll put the chairs on tables, turn out the lights and lock the universe behind me when I leave.
—Death of the Endless, The Sandman, "Facade"
Death: You have an inflated sense of your importance. To a thing like me, a thing like you...well think about how you'd feel if a bacterium sat at your table and started to get snarky. This is one little planet in one tiny solar system in a galaxy that's barely out of its diapers. I'm old, Dean. Very old. So I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you. Eat. Good, isn't it?
—Supernatural, "Two Minutes to Midnight"
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
—John Donne, "Holy Sonnet X"
Death: When next we meet, the hour will strike for you and your friends.
It was silent as the void, and to look upon it was to know terror. It drifted above us with slow, liquid grace, and its gaze caused madness and despair wherever it fell. Those it came near took their own lives rather than endure its hellish presence.
—Morilla, Harlequin Shadowseer, Warhammer 40000
Look behind you, he stands behind you
—"The Reaper" by Grave Digger
The churchbell of doom is tolling
—"Black Wings of Death" by Running Wild
He was there from the beginning. A power that exist at the end of all things. He walked with our gods and shaped our deepest beliefs. An executioner at the gallows. A lone hunter on a pale horse. A soldier on the battlefield. A criminal in the shadows. Fields become burial grounds in his wake. Every great atrocity, every feeble passing, he stands witness. In our strife, in our revolutions and in our wars, he has left his mark. And in the end, his will be the last face you see.
—The Grim Reaper, Chick Tracts