#grave

One keeps forgetting old age up to the very brink of the grave. ↗

— Sidonie Gabrielle Colette

#brink #forgetting #getting old #grave #keeps

They say it's better to bury your sadness in a graveyard or garden that waits for the spring to wake from its sleep and burst into green. ↗

— Conor Oberst

#burst #bury #garden #graveyard #green

Two aged men, that had been foes for life, Met by a grave, and wept - and in those tears They washed away the memory of their strife; Then wept again the loss of all those years. ↗

— Jean Paul

#aged #away #been #foes #grave

Every time I think that I'm getting old, and gradually going to the grave, something else happens. ↗

— Elvis Presley

#every #every time #getting #getting old #going

Every suggested idea produces a corresponding physical reaction. Every idea constantly repeated ends by being engraved upon the brain, provoking the act which corresponds to that idea. ↗

— Scott Reed

#being #brain #constantly #corresponding #corresponds

Impeachment is not a remedy for private wrongs; it's a method of removing someone whose continued presence in office would cause grave danger to the nation. ↗

— Charles Ruff

#continued #danger #grave #grave danger #impeachment

I was darkly convinced that at age 52 I would kill myself because my mother committed suicide at that age. I was fantasizing that she was waiting for me on the other side of the grave. ↗

— Spalding Gray

#because #committed #convinced #grave #i

To say what you feel is to dig your own grave. ↗

— Sinead O'Connor

#feel #grave #own #say #you

Then trust me there's nothing like drinking, So pleasant on this side of the grave: It keeps the unhappy from thinking, And makes e'en the valiant more brave. ↗

— Charles Dibdin

#drinking #grave #keeps #like #makes

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