#grave

Whatever else I do before finally I go to my grave, I hope it will not be looking after young people. ↗

— John Thorn

#before #else #finally #go #grave

Every couple I know has side-by-side grave plots, but when we do it we're the biggest weirdos on the block. ↗

— Billy Bob Thornton

#block #couple #every #grave #i

But I think that the spirit of protectionism would be the grave of European cinema. You cannot protect something by building a fence around it and thinking that this will help it survive. ↗

— Wim Wenders

#building #cannot #cinema #european #fence

I guess I'll go to my grave as the Dodger, but at least I've made my mark on show-business history. ↗

— Jack Wild

#go #grave #guess #history #i

THE BODY of BENJAMIN FRANKLIN Printer like the cover of an old book, its contents torn out, and stripped of its lettering and gilding lies here, food for worms; Yet the work itself shall not be lost, For it will (as he believed) appear once more, in a new, and more beautiful edition, corrected and amended By The AUTHOR ↗

— Benjamin Franklin

#headstone #beauty

Rosehill was shady and beautiful, the most serene place I could imagine. It had been closed to the public for years, and sometimes as I wandered alone - and often lonely - through the lush fern beds and long curtains of silvery moss, I pretended the crumbling angels were wood nymphs and fairies and I their ruler, queen of my own graveyard kingdom. ↗

— Amanda Stevens

#ghosts #graveyards #paranormal-fiction #paranormal-suspense #the-restorer

Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am in a thousand winds that blow, I am the softly falling snow. I am the gentle showers of rain, I am the fields of ripening grain. I am in the morning hush, I am in the graceful rush Of beautiful birds in circling flight, I am the starshine of the night. I am in the flowers that bloom, I am in a quiet room. I am in the birds that sing, I am in each lovely thing. Do not stand at my grave bereft I am not there. I have not left. ↗

— Mary Elizabeth Frye

#grave #grief #beauty

THE BARROW In this high field strewn with stones I walk by a green mound, Its edges sheared by the plough. Crumbs of animal bone Lie smashed and scattered round Under the clover leaves And slivers of flint seem to grow Like white leaves among green. In the wind, the chestnut heaves Where a man's grave has been. Whatever the barrow held Once, has been taken away: A hollow of nettles and dock Lies at the centre, filled With rain from a sky so grey It reflects nothing at all. I poke in the crumbled rock For something they left behind But after that funeral There is nothing at all to find. On the map in front of me The gothic letters pick out Dozens of tombs like this, Breached, plundered, left empty, No fragments littered about Of a dead and buried race In the margins of histories. No fragments: these splintered bones Construct no human face, These stones are simply stones. In museums their urns lie Behind glass, and their shaped flints Are labelled like butterflies. All that they did was die, And all that has happened since Means nothing to this place. Above long clouds, the skies Turn to a brilliant red And show in the water's face One living, and not these dead." — Anthony Thwaite, from The Owl In The Tree ↗

— Anthony Thwaite

#burial #death #funeral #grave #living

Every second I spend waiting, Drags me closer to this grave. I'm not alone. No, I'm just on my own. ↗

— Tegan Quin

#don-t-confess #grave #i-m-just-on-my-own #i-m-not-alone #if-it-was-you

MS. THOMPSON, it said in heavy block letters, PLEASE KEEP YOUR FELINE OFF MY PROPERTY. IF I SEE IT AGAIN, I WILL EAT IT. ↗

— Patricia Briggs

#humor #humor