Just because somebody's dead, you don't just stop liking them, for God's sake — especially if they were about a thousand times nicer than the people you know that're alive and all.
It's not getting to the land of the dead that's the problem. It's getting back.
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I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.
Death has a curious way of reshuffling one's priorities.
You... you told me once.... that you weren't a hero. Erm, there were times when I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this, you were...the best man...the most human...human being that I've ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, so... there. I was so alone and I owe you so much. But please, there's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me, don't be... dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this.
Why should I sail with any of you? Four of you have tried to kill me in the past. One of you succeeded.
— Does it hurt? Dying?
— Quicker than falling asleep.
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