Phaedo

Socrates: No, you must keep up your spirits and say that it is only my body that you are burying, and you can bury it as you please, in whatever way you think is most proper…

I should only make myself ridiculous in my own eyes if I clung to life and hugged it when it has no more to offer. Come, do as I say and don't make difficulties…

Crito, we ought to offer a cock to Asclepius. See to it, and don't forget.

Victorieusement Fui Le Suicide…

Victoriously the grand suicide fled
Foaming blood, brand of glory, gold, tempest!

O laughter if only to royally invest
My absent tomb purple, down there, is spread.

What! Not even a fragment of all that brightness
Remains: it’s midnight, in the shade that fetes us,
Except from the head there’s a treasure, presumptuous,
That pours without light its spoiled languidness,

Yours, always such a delight! Yours, yes,
Retaining alone of the vanished sky, this
Bit of childish triumph as you spread each tress,

Gleaming as you show it against the pillows,
Like the helmet of war of a child-empress
From which, to denote you, would pour down roses.

S. Mallarme.

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