I found a book, called The Oxford Book of Death, filled with wonderful quotes and excerpts from all kinds of books, poems and plays, that I would like to share with you. So this will be the first post using these. I hope you enjoy them!
This one is from the metaphysical novel, Kleinzeit (which means "little time"), by Russell Hoban:
"Under the bed, Death sat humming to itself while it cleaned its fingernails. I never do get them really clean, it said. It's a filthy job I've got but what's the use of complaining. All the same I think I'd rather have been Youth or Spring or any number of things rather than what I am. Not Youth, maybe. That's a little wet and you'd hardly get to know people before they've moved on. Spring's pretty much the same and it's a lady's job besides. Action would be nice to be, I should think.
Elsewhere Action lay in his cell smoking and looking up at the ceiling. What a career, he said. I've spent more time in the nick [jail] than anywhere else. Why couldn't I have been Death or something like that. Steady work, security."
Very human, isn't it? The grass is always greener somewhere else. Especially in a cemetery...