Obituary

[N]ot one in fifty of the actual disasters and deaths by casualties in the fishery, ever finds a public record at home, however transient and immediately forgotten that record. Do you suppose that that poor fellow there, who this moment perhaps caught by the whale-line off the coast of New Guinea, is being carried down to the bottom of the sea by the sounding leviathan—do you suppose that that poor fellow's name will appear in the newspaper obituary you will read to-morrow at your breakfast?

The newspaper came in, as usual, after breakfast. I looked it over, and discovered this memorable entry, among the obituary announcements of the day:— "On the 29th inst., at Brighton, Michael Vanstone, Esq., formerly of Zurich, aged 77."

“You want to know the ironic thing? I wrote my son’s obituary using ChatGPT,” Mr. Taylor said.

You know the Greeks didn't write obituaries. They only asked one question after a man died: "Did he have passion?"

Obituary editors are confronted daily with the need to make delicate hermeneutic interpretations of the social meaning of individuals' deaths and to express these powerfully to their readership. […] [I draw] attention to a discrepancy that appears to exist between, on the one hand, the editors' subjective avowals about the openness of the obituary columns and, on the other hand, the objectively highly restricted origins and trajectories of the obituary subjects.

Mouths were agape on the announcement of England's starting lineup, the return of Keira Walsh appearing miraculous 10 days after she left the pitch on a stretcher in agony. Walsh’s World Cup obituaries were written; she was England's most valuable player, irreplaceable.

He is the paper's obituary editor.