#grave

Some people asked me if I would be interested in managing the A's. I said a definite no thank you. At night, that place is a graveyard with lights. ↗

— Whitey Herzog

#definite #graveyard #i #interested #lights

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

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

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

I was thinking, "So, I’m Emperor, am I? What nonsense! But at least I'll be able to make people read my books now. ↗

— Robert Graves

#claudius #emperor #robert-graves #roman #roman