Besides, it’s always other people who die.

The line captures a mordant, paradoxical truth about mortality: death is intellectually certain yet experientially inaccessible. Each person encounters death only as something that happens to others; one’s own death is never lived as an event within consciousness. In Duchamp’s spirit—skeptical, ironic, and alert to the tricks of language—the remark also punctures solemn talk about dying by exposing the ego’s quiet presumption of continuity. It can be read as a comment on modern detachment: we treat death as a spectacle or statistic because it is always, in practice, someone else’s story—until the moment when “we” are no longer there to narrate it.