#cemetery

It's easier to miss her at a cemetery, where she's never been anything but dead, than to miss her at all the places where she was alive. ↗

— John Scalzi

#death #loss #mourning #death

I have no auditory depth perception. She said, “I love you,” and I couldn’t even tell if she was 300 miles away, or 6 feet below my feet and 300 years away.
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— Jarod Kintz

#auditory #cemetery #death #depth-perception #grave

I can't count how many of my friends are in the cemetery at Normandy, the heroes are still there, the real heroes. ↗

— Charles Durning

#count #friends #heroes #how #i

Science is a cemetery of dead ideas. ↗

— Miguel de Unamuno

#dead #ideas #science

My closest friend, who died not long ago, is buried near Marx's grave in Highgate cemetery, so I see the gaggle of admirers laying roses at the foot of his tombstone regularly. I have never been tempted to leave flowers there myself. Great theories, shame about the practice. Marx did many things. But inventing class was not one of them. ↗

— Alastair Campbell

#admirers #ago #been #buried #cemetery

Left love behind many years ago. Now it rests under a cross in the cemetery in Tombstone. ↗

— Franco Nero

#behind #cemetery #cross #left #love

The twin guardian angels whose eyes and hands and wings had focused protective attention on the souls that lay there no longer faced each other. They stared blindly into a random middle distance. The scroll they held between them proclaiming eternal resurrection was broken in two. ↗

— Clare Morgan

#cemetery #change #resurrection #change

I dig art. With a shovel. In the cemetery.
 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#cemetery #dig #shovel #art

I shook with cold and fear, without being able to answer. After a lapse of some moments, I was again called. I made an effort to speak, and then felt the bandage which wrapped me from head to foot. It was my shroud. At last, I managed feebly to articulate, 'Who calls?' 'Tis I' said a voice. 'Who art thou?' 'I! I! I!' was the answer; and the voice grew weaker, as if it was lost in the distance; or as if it was but the icy rustle of the trees. A third time my name sounded on my ears; but now it seemed to run from tree to tree, as if it whistled in each dead branch; so that the entire cemetery repeated it with a dull sound. Then I heard a noise of wings, as if my name, pronounced in the silence, had suddenly awakened a troop of nightbirds. My hands, as if by some mysterious power, sought my face. In silence I undid the shroud which bound me, and tried to see. It seemed as if I had awakened from a long sleep. I was cold. I then recalled the dread fear which oppressed me, and the mournful images by which I was surrounded. The trees had no longer any leaves upon them, and seemed to stretch forth their bare branches like huge spectres! A single ray of moonlight which shone forth, showed me a long row of tombs, forming an horizon around me, and seeming like the steps which might lead to Heaven. All the vague voices of the night, which seemed to preside at my awakening, were full of terror. ("The Dead Man's Story") ↗

— James Hain Friswell

#graveyard #horror #terror #art

I got the sexton, who was digging Linton’s grave, to remove the earth off her coffin lid, and I opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed there, when I saw her face again—it is hers yet—he had hard work to stir me; but he said it would change, if the air blew on it... ↗

— Emily Brontë

#cemetery #corpse #death #heathcliff #change