I know you've come to kill me. Shoot, you are only going to kill a man. These reportedly, were his last words, to Sergeant Jaime Terán.

In a revolution, one triumphs or dies (if it is a true revolution). Letter to Fidel Castro, 1 April 1965

You know when I need to die? When I'm done living. When I can't walk, can't eat, can't see, when I'm a crotchety old bastard, mad at the world. Then I can die.

I want to die at a hundred years old with an American flag on my back and the star of Texas on my helmet, after screaming down an Alpine descent on a bicycle at 75 miles per hour. I want to cross one last finish line as my stud wife and my ten children applaud, and then I want to lie down in a field of those famous French sunflowers and gracefully expire, the perfect contradiction to my once anticipated poignant early demise.

My character and good name are in my own keeping. Life with disgrace is dreadful. A glorious death is to be envied. March 10, 1795

It is nonsense, Mr. Burke, to suppose I can live. My sufferings are great but they will soon be over.