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Someone who is about to die does not mourn the dead.

To mourn is to wonder at the strangeness that grief is not written all over your face in bruised hieroglyphics. And it's also to feel, quite powerfully, that you're not allowed to descend into the deepest fathom of your grief - that to do so would be taboo somehow.

I get inhabited by a character and then you mourn it. There's a period of mourning for me, definitely.

It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived.

Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning; for I still live, as I pass to and fro through the mouths of men.

And yet, I suppose you mourn the loss or the death of what you thought your life was, even if you find your life is better after. You mourn the future that you thought you'd planned.

I envy the dead.

Excess of grief for the dead is madness; for it is an injury to the living, and the dead know it not.

And, in a funny way, each death is different and you mourn each death differently and each death brings back the death you mourned earlier and you get into a bit of a pile-up.