I’m the god of funerals. I know every death custom in the world—how to die properly, how to prepare the body and soul for the afterlife. I live for death.” “You must be fun at parties,” I said.

If you don't like it you can kiss my quiver

I knew Dionysus must've filled it out, because he stubbornly insisted on getting my name wrong: Dear _______Peter Johnson__________.

If my life is going to mean anything, I have to live it myself.

I haven't devoured a soul in...What month is this? March?

Happy Birthday!' I yelled, 'Now, shut up!

No man may be completely invulnerable.