There are so many wise words about death and about how we relate to our own mortality.
Whether you love or hate posts like these, give them a chance. You might find something that helps you set the tone for a new, more death-positive 2026!
Wait—what on earth does it mean to be “death-positive”? You can read more about the slightly contradictory expression HERE.
“Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it.” – Haruki Murakami
“Death is just another path, one that we all must take.” — J.R.R. Tolkien
”I cannot escape death, but I can at least escape fear of it.” – Epictetus
”Death smiles at us all, all a man can do is smile back.” – Marcus Aurelius
“Death is nature’s way of saying, ‘Your table is ready.’” – Robin Williams
“I’m not afraid of death, but I’m in no hurry to die. I have so much I want to do first.” – Stephen Hawking
“Death must exist for life to have meaning.” – Neal Shusterman
”Dying is nothing to fear. It can be the most wonderful experience of your life. It all depends on how you’ve lived.” – Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
”I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.” – Mark Twain
One of my own favorite quotes comes from J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan:
“To die will be an awfully big adventure,” but just as Hawking mentioned above, there is so much I want to do while I am alive that I’m in no hurry to die.
What’s your favorite qoute about death or mortality?
A short story with Quinley & Herrow
Who are Quinley and Herrow?
In Coffinfolk Café’s stand alone short stories, you’ll meet two most unlikely friends:
Quinley – Coffinfolk’s café host. A young woman who loves life just as much as she loves exploring the cultural heritage of death and sharing advice, information, and insights that can help people – whether they are facing their own encounter with Death or living with grief.
Herrow – Death himself. He may look frightening in his black cloak, but beneath the bones is a kind soul who enjoys a cup of coffee and sharing experiences gathered from every corner of time.
You can find a longer introduction + a short story about their first meeting HERE
“Winged Words"
Narrated by Quinley
The only sound in the quiet forest was the crunch of snow beneath my boots. Not a soul in sight—perfect for thinking in peace.
…and for talking to my friend Herrow without people thinking I was mad for carrying on a conversation with someone they couldn’t see.
I glanced up at the reaper walking beside me. His long black cloak glided soundlessly over the freshly fallen snow.
“Well then? Have you found your death-positive motto or mantra for the year ahead?” Herrow’s cloak rustled softly as he turned his head. His empty eye sockets rested on me, and I could have sworn a small smile played across his non-existent lips. For a skeleton, he could be remarkably expressive—if you took the time to really look.
“Not really…” I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket and started scrolling through my social media feeds, which at the moment were little more than endless posts of inspirational quotes and wise words. “Most of them are nice and thought-provoking, but nothing has really stuck yet.”
As we rounded a bend, my focus was still on the phone, and I didn’t notice that Herrow had stopped. I walked straight into him, and when I looked up, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Standing in the middle of the narrow path was a bull moose, glaring at us.
I peeked over Herrow’s shoulder at the massive animal. My phone slipped from my hands and landed in the snow with a soft thud.
“Herrow—” I squeaked, clutching his cloak in a very literal death grip.
“There, there…” Herrow whispered, gently prying my fingers loose. The reaper slowly stepped toward the moose, which stretched out its muzzle and sniffed at him.
I briefly considered trying to climb the nearest tree, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the meeting between the King of the Forest and Death himself. Herrow murmured something, bent down, and lifted one of the moose’s front legs.
I think the moose and I looked equally confused as Herrow carefully tapped the animal’s hoof with the long scythe until a stone fell into the snow.
“Better now, my good sir?” Herrow asked, patting the moose’s flank. “Go on, the forest awaits you.” The moose responded with a short, rumbling sound before lumbering off between the trees.
“Oh, I really thought my—or the moose’s—final moment had come…” I picked up my phone, reminding myself how breathing worked.
“Oh no! Not yet.” Herrow chuckled, waiting for me to catch up before we continued along the path. “What is it Harley usually says? That line from the book about the boy who never wanted to grow up?”
“Peter Pan, yes. ‘To die will be an awfully big adventure,’ something like that. I agree with him—but I don’t want to set out on that adventure just yet.” Herrow draped an arm around my shoulders.
“Neither does Harley. You’re both right in the middle of life’s own adventures. Everything has its time.”
We walked on in silence.
In a clearing, untouched snow lay like a fluffy blanket over the grass.
“Do you have a quote about death that you’re particularly fond of?” I was genuinely curious what Herrow would say. He stopped and gazed out over the still clearing.
“Here.” He handed me the scythe. I barely had time to grasp the old tool before Herrow spun around and fell backward into the snow with an almost soundless thump. He lay there flat on his back, staring up at the treetops swaying gently in the wind beneath the clear blue sky.
“Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grass waving above one’s head and listening to the silence. To have no yesterday and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.”
“So beautiful. Oh—wait, isn’t that from The Canterville Ghost? Oscar Wilde?” I leaned against the scythe, just the way Herrow usually did.
“Correct,” the reaper replied. “I will never get to experience death myself, ironically enough. Dying is not always as dignified and peaceful as I would wish for all you living beings—but being dead, feeling that eternal peace… that is something I sometimes envy you.”
“…and many people dream of eternal life,” I added.
“We’re never satisfied,” Herrow chuckled, stretching out his arms and legs and moving them back and forth in the snow. Watching Death make a snow angel was still less unexpected than finding myself nose to muzzle with a moose today. Life will probably never stop surprising me—especially as long as Herrow, my eternal shadow, remains part of it.
I stepped a little closer to the edge of the path. This was far from the first time I’d held Herrow’s faithful scythe, but each time it felt unexpectedly light in one hand and, at the same time, unexpectedly heavy when I thought of how many souls it had helped collect.
“Now you look like a proper death angel,” I giggled, pointing at Herrow’s newly made wings in the snow.
“And you look like my little apprentice,” Herrow nodded toward my shadow. He was right. My beanie and long coat, together with the scythe, really did resemble a reaper-in-training in silhouette.
“Oh, one day you have to tell me what it was like for you when you were new on the job, so to speak!”
Herrow got to his feet and shook the snow from his legs and the flowing black fabric of his cloak.
“Not a chance. That’s long past the statute of limitations,” he muttered, rejoining me on the path. I held out the scythe. He didn’t quite look like himself without it.
As we left the clearing behind us, I had an idea and pulled out my phone again.
Herrow read aloud as I showed him what was on the screen:
“Death is a wonderful life coach. He reminds me that all the small moments together form the painting that is my life. Death himself is the frame that holds the canvas in place and makes every brushstroke so precious.” – Quinley Hartfeldt