Quotes About Graveyards

The museums and parks are graveyards above the ground- congealed memories of the past that act as a pretext for reality.

Arsenic turned out to work even better, and was cheaper. Until it was banned in the 1890s, it was used widely, and heavy arsenic levels are sometimes a problem for archaeologists examining some old U.S. graveyards. What they generally find is that the bodies decomposed anyway, but the arsenic stayed.

The book review pages of those journals are the graveyards of constructive academic philosophy, and any doubts as to whether rational consensus might not after all be achievable on modern academic moral philosophy can be put to rest by reading them through regularly.

The bookstore was a parking lot for used graveyards. Thousands of graveyards were parked in rows like cars. Most of the books were out of print, and no one wanted to read them any more and the people who had read the books had died or forgotten about them, but through the organic process of music the books had become virgins again.

Thousands of graveyards were parked in rows like cars.

Graveyards were the one place Belladonna never saw ghosts.

Perhaps no other aspect of Indian education during the sixty years of the boarding school era is more tragic than the fact that the school grounds at Carlisle and Haskell and all the other schools included graveyards

Finally, rocking the whole harbour and carrying to every city windows; besetting kitchens with dinner on the stove, and shoddy hotel bedrooms where sheets are never changed, and desks waiting for children to come home, and schools and tennis courts and graveyards; plunging everything into a moment of grief and ruthlessly tearing even the hearts of the uninvolved, the Rakuyo's horn screamed out one last enormous farewell. Trailing white smoke, she sailed straight out to sea.

People tend to hold a lot of superstitions when it comes to old graveyards

Loyalty is a fine quality, but in excess it fills political graveyards.

There are no gardens in the Mirador. Only graveyards.

Death was everywhere. Death was everything. Career. Desire. Dream. Poetry. Love. Youth itself. Dying became just another way of living. Graveyards sprang up in parks and meadows, by streams and rivers, in fields and forest glades. Tombstones grew out of the ground like young children's teeth. Every village, every locality, had its own graveyard.

She had a conversation with a man with a beard, and youre saying she hangs around graveyards at night and bags off with the undead?

How can the lord of goblins, the delighter in graveyards, the naked devotee covered with ashes, haggard in appearance, wearing twisted locks ornamented with snakes, be the supreme being?

So we are drawn to graveyards, where we can be close to the dead and ponder their fate as well as our own.

We are all trapped by a singular fate, nobody ever finds the one, the city dumps fill, the junkyards fill, the madhouses fill, the hospitals fill, the graveyards fill, nothing else fills

Most people say about graveyards: Oh, it's just a bunch of dead people. It's creepy. But for me, there's an energy to it that it not creepy, or dark. It has a positive sense to it.

Did you teach him wisdom as well as valor, Ned! She wondered. Did you teach him how to Kneel! The grave yards of the Seven Kinfdoms are full of brave men who had never learned that lesson. Cat.

It is exactly the fear of revenge that motivates the deepest crimes, from the killing of the enemy's children lest they grow up to play their own part, to the erasure of the enemy's graveyards and holy places so that his hated name can be forgotten.

Sir Edwin Chadwick, whose Sanitary Report proved to be a bestseller for the Stationery Office in 1842, confirmed that, every year, 20,000 adults and 30,000 youths and children were 'imperfectly interred' in less than 218 acres of burial ground, 'closely surrounded by the abodes of the living'.2

These garden graveyards are the most peaceful of our London sanctuaries and their dead the quietest.

'Twas now the very witching time of night, When churchyards groan, and graves give up their dead, And many a mischievous, enfranchised sprite Had long since burst his bonds of stone or lead, And hurried off, with schoolboy-like delight, To play his pranks near some poor wretch's bed, Sleeping, perhaps serenely as a porpoise, Nor dreaming of this fiendish Habeas Corpus.

Once and for all, let us speak the paradox aloud: "We have been force-fed for so long the shudders of a thousand graveyards that at last, seeking a macabre redemption, a salvation by horror, we willingly consume the terrors of the tomb...and find them to our liking.

Once and for all, lets us speak the paradox aloud: "We have been force-fed for so long the shudders of a thousand graveyards that at last, seeking a macabre redemption, a salvation by horror, we willing consume the terror of the tomb... and find them to our liking.