Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Gravestone. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Gravestone Quotes And Sayings by 94 Authors including Stephen King,Adelaide Crapsey,Willa Cather,Erich Maria Remarque,Frank Sinatra for you to enjoy and share.
Death is a mystery, and burial is a secret.
Wouldst thou find my ashes? Look
In the pages of my book;
And as these thy hand doth turn,
Know here is my funeral urn.
It is cremated youth. It is all yours
no one gave it to you.
The coffin, it shall protect me, though Death himself lies in it
I want to be buried with a Zippo, a roll of dimes & a bottle of Jack!
The grave has a door on its inner side.
Repentance clothes in grass and flowers the grave in which the past is laid.
Her grave is in Brocklebridge Churchyard: for fifteen years after her death it was only covered by a grassy mound; but now a gray marble tablet marks the spot, inscribed with her name, and the word 'Resurgam'.
In American military cemeteries all over the world, seemingly endless rows of whitened grave markers stand largely unvisited and in silence. The gardeners tend the lawns, one section at a time. Even at the famous sites, tourism is inconstant.
O heart, and mind, and thoughts! what thing do you Hope to inherit in the grave below?
I've never written a quote I feel would be suitable for my gravestone. Wouldn't it be ironic if it were this one? Oh, and could you pull a few weeds while you're here?
While you are living, part of you has slipped away to the cemetery.
One of the gravestones in the cemetery near the earliest church has an anchor on it and an hourglass, and the words In Hope.
In Hope. Why did they put that above a dead person? Was it the corpse hoping, or those still alive?
A stone is ingrained with geological and historical memories.
If I have done any deed worthy of remembrance, that deed will be my monument. If not, no monument can preserve my memory.
Grave-stones tell truth scarce forty years. Generations pass while families last not three oaks.
I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.
Some people were born just so they could be buried.
Of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Let's choose executors and talk of wills; And yet not so - for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Let love be the gravestone
Lying on my life.
CEMETERY, n. An isolated suburban spot where mourners match lies, poets write at a target and stone-cutters spell for a wager.
Everyone, deep down within, carries a small cemetery of those he has loved.
I want a natural burial. Just straight into the ground in a shroud.
Somebody asked what I wanted on my gravestone. I'm just going to put: 'Glad I Could Help.'
The only thing that walks back from the tomb with the mourners and refuses to be buried is the character of a man. This is true. What a man is survives him. It can never be buried. -J. R. MILLER
Lightning rods guarding some graves denoted dead who rested uneasily; stumps of burned-out candles stood at the heads of infant graves. It was a happy cemetery.
Tomb, thou shalt not hold Him longer; Death is strong, but Life is stronger; Stronger than the dark, the light; Stronger than the wrong, the right; Faith and Hope triumphant say Christ will rise on Easter Day.
Thoughts by a graveside are too dark and deep to be sustained for any length of time. Sooner or later the hurt mind turns to the sun for healing, and this is as it should be, for otherwise, what future could any of us hope for, but madness?
It's not put into his head to be buried. It's put into his head to be made useful. You hold your life on the condition that to the last you shall struggle hard for it. Every man holds a discovery on the same terms.
There is a graveyard in my poor heart - dark, heaped-up graves, from which no flowers spring.
I ask a wreathwhich will not crush my head.
And there is no hurry about it;
I shall have, doubtless, a boom after my funeral,
Seeing that long standing increases all things
regardless of quality.
The cemetery was vanity transmogrified into stone. Instead of growing more sensible in death, the inhabitants of the cemetery were sillier than they had been in life.
There is nothing more dignified than a corpse.
If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings and the widow weeps
As soon as you have a child, you see your own tombstone
And now let us love and take that which is given us, and be happy; for in the grave there is no love and no warmth, nor any touching of the lips. Nothing perchance, or perchance but bitter memories of what might have been.
The temple of fame stands upon the grave: the flame that burns upon its altars is kindled from the ashes of great men.
Q: Bury deep, Pile on stones, Yet I will Dig up the bones. What am I? A: Memories - A FOLK RIDDLE
Why will I bury you? So that one day I might disturb your grave.
I just got done digging a hole shaped like a human body. But I have no idea what to bury. I'll probably hide all my love for you, like I would with any other treasure.
Graves are for the living, not the dead. It gives us something to concentrate on instead of the fact that our loved one is rotting under the ground.
O Death, the Consecrator! Nothing so sanctifies a name As to be written
Dead. Nothing so wins a life from blame, So covers it from wrath and shame, As doth the burial-bed.
I repose in this quiet and secluded spot not from any natural preference for solitude, but finding other cemeteries limited as to race by charter rules, I have chosen this that I might illustrate in my death the principles which I advocated through a long life: EQUALITY OF MAN BEFORE HIS CREATOR.
My tombstone? I'm thinking something along the lines of, 'Geez, he was just here a minute ago.'
Don't take anything for granite. That's what tombstones are made of.
I honored the fallen enemy by placing a stone on his beautiful grave.
I have walked the earth for thirty years and, out of gratitude, want to leave some souvenir.
I sometimes imagine I would like my ashes to be scattered in a library. But then the librarians would just have to come in early the next morning to sweep them up again, before the people got there.
But let my death be memoried on this disc.
Wear it, sweet friend. Inscribe no date nor deed.
But let thy heart-beat kiss it night and day,
Until the name grow vague and wear away.
A tomb is a monument placed on the limits of two worlds.
All I desire for my own burial, is not to be buried alive; but how or where, I think, must be entirely indifferent to every rational creature.
Tombs decked by the arts can scarcely represent death as a formidable enemy; we do not, indeed, like the ancients, carve sports and dances in the sarcophagus, but thought is diverted from the bier by works that tell of immortality, even from the altar of death.
Before an empty tomb, we will come to know that Christ our Lord has burst the bands of death and stands forever triumphant over the grave.
It is difficult to want to tell a grave that it is not immortal. It's so obvious at that point.
The story of a life can be as long or as short as the teller wishes. Whether the life is tragic or enlightened, the classic gravestone inscription marking simply the dates of birth and death has, in its brevity, much to recommend it.
In a fleshy tomb I am buried above ground.
Of present fame think little, and of future less; the praises that we receive after we are buried, like the flowers that are strewed over our grave, may be gratifying to the living, but they are nothing to the dead.
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth,
Let's choose executors and talk of wills
Ashes. Ashes, and blood, and nothing more.
The dead carry with them to the grave in their clutched hands only that which they have given away.
What is there flattering, amusing, or edifying in their carving your name on a tombstone, then time rubbing off the inscription together with the gilding?
I buried Little Ann by the side of Old Dan. I knew that was where she wanted to be. I also buried a part of my life along with my dog.
An everlasting funeral marches round your heart.
The graves of those we have loved and lost distress and console as.
The cemetery is my sense of comfort, my sanctuary in a world of darkness, the one piece of light that i have in my life.
Mama, don't forget to put a little monument on my tomb when I'm dead
This is the last time I would ever visit the cemetery or my wife's grave, but I didn't want to expend too much effort in trying to remember it. As I said, this is the place where she's never been anything but dead. There's not much value in remembering that.
The cemetery is full of indispensable people.
The greater the monument, the greater the man. The stone the Greeks quarry for his grave is huge and white, stretching up to the sky. A C H I L L E S, it reads. It will stand for him, and speak to all who pass: he lived and died, and lives again in memory.
For heroes have the whole earth for their tomb; and in lands far from their own, where the column with its epitaph declares it, there is enshrined in every breast a record unwritten with no tablet to preserve it, except that of the heart.
preferably left buried in
In the stillness of headstones,
Darkness is my blanket.
And forever is my song.
In the arms if stone angels, I'm not afraid.
Because finally and completely,
I belong.
I wondered what I thought I was burying.
For the greedy there will be no tomb
He remembered the gravestone of a woman parishioner in the churchyard of St. John's in the Grove. DEMURE AT LAST, it read. He thought that the single most definitive and amusing epitaph he'd ever come across.
When I die, remember that what you knew of me is with you always. What is buried is only the shell of what was. Do not regret the shell, but remember the man. Remember the father.
If you take epitaphs seriously, we ought to bury the living and resurrect the dead.
The monument I want after I am dead is a monument with two legs going around the world-a saved sinner telling about the salvation of Jesus Christ.
To the solemn graves, near a lonely cemetery, my heart like a muffled drum is beating funeral marches.
The path you create for yourself is the mark you leave behind when you're gone from this world. All beauty and angst is stopped by the grave. But your words, your laughter, your faith, and spirit, refuse to die with you. They remain in the hearts and minds of those you touched.
When we lose people we love, we should never disturb their souls, whether living or dead. Instead. we should find consolation in an object that reminds you of them, something ... I don't know ... even an earring
Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected; for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green.
Let the dead bury the dead.
Reading the epitaphs, our only salvation lies in resurrecting the dead and burying the living.
Don't bury me but instead use me as fertilizer to grow a tree..I can prove to you im useful both alive and dead
A dead man's vanity: his ashes full of life that cannot be deceased before a living being's pride.
Marble statues, engraved with public inscriptions, by which the life and soul return after death to noble leaders.
Not everything buried is actually dead. For many, the past is alive.
An element of the burial custom which today seems particularly macabre was the possibility of being buried with a companion, a male or female follower, presumably usually a slave, killed for the burial.
We never bury the dead, son. Not really. We take them with us. It's the price of living.
The grave will fall in upon him who digs it.
This is a grave. There is no honor here in broken tools and old bones, only in the deeds of our children.
The start date and the end date are always the important bits on the gravestones, written in big letters. The dash in between is always so small you can barely see it. Surely the dash should be big and bright and amazing, or not, depending on how you had lived.
They say in the grave there is peace, and peace and the grave are one and the same.
Mortification. I'm draped in it. Painted in it. Buried in it.
Epitaph, n. An inscription on a tomb, showing that virtues acquired by death have a retroactive effect.
Better to rest in peace than rot in pieces
Tombstones don't talk back.
One thing I'd learned from all the burying I'd attended was that sometimes it's hard to pay attention. Burying someone you know will set your mind down some distant trail, as the one you're really on is too painful to view.
at the burial of Ernest, Sarah's brother
p177
Royalty is a fine burial shroud.