grave quotes
He had often noticed that six months'oblivion amounts to newspaper death, and that resurrection is rare. Nothing is easier, if a manwants it, thanrest, profound as the grave.
In all thy humours, whether grave or mellow, Thou'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow; Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about thee, There is no living with thee, nor without thee.
Ear byth egle eorla gehwylcun. The grave isghastly to every man.
Now why that erthe luves erthe, wondere me thinke, Or why that erthe for erthe sholde other swete or swinke: For when that erthe upon erthe es broghte withinbrinke, Thane shall erthe of erthe have a foulle stinke. Now, why earth loves earth, I wonder to think, Or why earth for earth should either sweat or labour: For when earth upon earth comes within the grave's brink, Then earth upon earth shall have a foul stink.
From the cradle to the grave, Even if I misbehave, There's a place for me On government subsidy.
Is there any room at your head, Sanders? Is there any room at your feet? Or any room at your twa sides, Where fain, fain I would sleep? There is nae room at my head, Margaret, There is nae room at my feet; My bed it is the cold, cold grave; Among the hungry worms I sleep.
They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.
And all his sons and all his daughters rose up to comfort him; but he refused to be comforted; and he said, For I will go down into the grave unto my son mourning. Thus his father wept for him.
And he said, My son shall not go down with you; for his brother isdead, and heisleft alone: if mischief befall him by the way in the which ye go, then shall ye bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.
Whatsoever thy hand findethto do; do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.
Love isstrong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned.
He was cut off out of the land of the living: for the transgression of my people was he stricken. And he made his grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death; because he had done no violence, neither was any deceit in his mouth.
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?
Von derWiege bis zur Bahre, zuerst dieW a« sche. From the cradle to the grave, underwear first, last and all the time.
Cold inthe earthand the deepsnow piled abovethee, Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave! Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, Severed at last byTime's all-serving wave?
Man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave.
My Sword, I give to him that shall succeed me in my Pilgrimage, and my Courage and Skill, to himthat can get it. My Marks and Scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me, that Ihave fought his Battles, who now will be my Rewarder As he went, he said,Death, where is thy Sting? And as he went down deeper, he said,Grave where is thy Victory? So he passed over, and the Trumpets sounded for him on the other side.
When for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unkindled, uncoffined, and unknown.
Marriage is the grave or tomb of wit.
What is this world? what asketh men to have? Now with his love, now in his colde grave.
The mysterious East, perfumed like a flower, silent like death, dark like a grave.
The Cross alone has flown the wave. But since the Cross sank, much that's warped and cracked Has followed in its name, has heaped its grave.
Bequeath us no earthly shore until Is answered in the vortex of our grave The seal's wide spindrift gaze toward paradise.
Life was a funny thing that happened tome ontheway to the grave.
Then trust me, there's nothing like drinking So pleasant this side of the grave; It keeps the unhappy from thinking, And makes e'en the valiant more brave.
Father of Peace, and God of love! We ownThy power to save, That power by which our Shepherd rose Victorious o'er the grave.
Verse hath a middle nature: heaven keeps souls, The grave keeps bodies, verse the fame enrols.
Those who talk of the Bible as a 'monument of English prose'are merely admiring it as a monument over the grave of Christianity.
I am a courtier grave and serious Who is about to kiss your hand: Try to combine a pose imperious With a demeanour nobly bland.
Take your delight in momentariness, Walk between dark and darka shining space With the grave's narrowness, though not its peace.
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour, The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
And on that grave where English oak and holly And laurel wreaths entwine, Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly, This spray of Western pine!
There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu, There's a little marble cross below the town, There'sa broken-heartedwomantendsthegrave of Mad Carew, And theYellow God forever gazes down.
I have protracted my work till most of those whom I wished to please have sunk into the grave; and success 442 and miscarriage are empty sounds.
An odd thought strikes me:we shall receive no letters in the grave.
There are no fields of amaranth on this side of the grave.
Even from my sick bed, even if you are going to lower me intothegrave, and Ifeelsomething iswrong,Iwill get up.
Life is real, life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
Dark as the Grave Wherein my Friend is Laid.
Then worms shall try That long preserved virginity: And your quaint honour turn to dust; And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none I thinkdo there embrace.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
Methought I saw my late espoused Saint Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
My father used to say, 'Superior people never make long visits, have to be shown Longfellow's grave or the glass flowers at Harvard.'
She is older thantherocks among whichshesits; likethe vampire, shehas beendead many times, and learned the secrets of the grave.
We must recollectwhat it is we have at stake, what it is we have to contend for. It is for our property, it is for our liberty, it is for our independence, nay for our existence as a nation; it is for our character, it is for our very name as Englishmen, it is for everything dear and valuable to man on this side of the grave.
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed, By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed, By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned, By strangers honoured, and by strangers mourned.
Leave not a foot of verse, a foot of stone, A Page, a Grave, that they can call their own; But spread, my sons, your glory thin or thick, On passive paper, or on solid brick.
Even such isTime, which takes in trust Our youth, our joys, and all we have, And pays us but with age and dust, Who in the dark and silent grave When we have wandered all our ways Shuts up the story of our days, And from which earth, and grave, and dust The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.
Over this damp grave I speak the words of my love; I, with no rights in this matter, Neither father nor lover.
But ruffian stern, and soldier good, The noble and the slave, From various cause the same wild road, On the same bloody morning, trode, To that dark innthe Grave!
No repose for Sir Walter but in the grave. Friends, don't let me expose myselfget me to bedthat's the only place.
Peace is in the grave. The grave hides all things beautiful and good: I am a God and cannot find it there.
A traveller from the cradle to the grave Through the dim night of this immortal day.
The principle which prompts to save is the desire of bettering our conditiona desire whichcomes with us from the womb and never leaves us till we go into the grave.
Times are changed with him who marries; there are no more by-path meadows, where you may innocently linger, but the road lies long and straight and dusty to the grave. Idleness, which is often becoming and even wise in the bachelor, begins to wear a different aspect when you have a wife to support.
Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be, Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill.
Come not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry; But thou, go by. Child, if it were thine error or thy crime I care no longer, being all unblest; Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time, And I desire to rest. Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie: Go by, go by.
His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud Drops in his vast and wandering grave.
O me, why have they not buried me deep enough? Is it kind to have made me a grave so rough, Me, that was never a quiet sleeper?
Alone until she dies,Bessie Bighead, hired help, born in the workhouse, smelling of the cowshed, snores bass and gruff on a couch of straw in a loft in Salt Lake Farm and picks a posy of daisies in Sunday Meadow to put on the grave of Gomer Owen who kissed her once by the pig-sty when she wasn't looking and never kissed her again although she was looking all the time.
He is an old bore. Even the grave yawns for him.
See, the curse of children! In life they keep us frequently in tears, And in the cold grave leave us in pale fears.
Ispenttwo hourswiththat great man,Dr Johnson, who is sinking into the grave bya gentle decay.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: Aviolet bya mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!
Physician art thou?one, all eyes, Philosopher!a fingering slave, One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave?
Either still I find Some imperfection in the chosen theme, Or see of absolute accomplishment Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, That I recoil and droop, and seek repose In listlessness from vain perplexity, Unprofitably travelling towards the grave.
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
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