“I don't want to die, I thought. Not again.”
“If that was dying, I don't want to do it again.”
“Maybe this is why I sleep only a few hours a month. I don't want to die again. This has become clearer and clearer to me recently, a desire so sharp and focused I can hardly believe it's mine: I don't want to die. I don't want to disappear. I want to stay.”
“I don't want the universe broken up just yet," drawled the Marquis. "I want to do a lot of beastly things before I die. I thought of one yesterday in bed.”
“I don't want to die, but I don't want to live either. I'm scared to live and scared to die.”
“I don't want to be dying. I want to be dead.”