Quotes About Grave

Let it all go, one foot in the grave and one bag packed. We shall go to our end in the warm glow of the past, burning up the memories, all the clutter given back.

It illustrates the process of intelligence in relation to non-transparent factors on the basis of five typical configurations that I shall call: the grave; the body; the book; the bureaucracy; the complex machine. It would be an accidental but not undesirable effect if people recognize this series as a progressive approach to the living environment, or, rather, the box environment of modernity.

He was dead, buried the month before with full military honors with a clove of garlic in his mouth and a stake through his heart. He was well out of it, his last thoughts of revenge upon his Czech assassins still suspended inside his elongated El Greco head like so much frozen gray mud, and there was no more harm he could do anyone.

It is not unusual for the eye or ear to play tricks with one, but when such illusions and delusions are taken for the Spirit forms of the departed and voices of the dead instead of being recognized as some subjective phenomena brought about by a physical cause, the situation takes on a grave aspect.

The Democratic Party is at grave risk of completely marginalizing itself from the American voters by continuing to lean into its absolutist anti-enforcement positions.

I'm a very serious person.

The members of the congregation looked as though they'd just dropped in for a rest on the way to the grave.

My spirit will rise from the grave and the world will see i was right.

An old doting fool, with one foot already in the grave.

There is at least one advantage to being an Indonesian citizen: With this country's expanse of land and even greater expanse of sea, it's not difficult finding space for one's grave.

Life was a funny thing that happened to me on the way to the grave.

Kennedy had been assassinated a month or so before. So we walked to the grave of John Kennedy and ended our walking symbolically at the Arlington National Cemetery.

I fully believe in ghosts. I have, my entire life. The first house I ever lived in was haunted. There was a grave of a man in the backyard. I was just a baby then, but my parents would tell me that every night, at the same time, they would hear someone walking up the stairs.

At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.

Dyer was held guilty of 'a grave error of judgment', the report offered weak recommendations and exonerated O'Dwyer.

Times are grave and you seem very indignant.

I leave you gifts of Fate most secret; find no other's Fate, For if you do, no grave is deep enough for your despair No countryfar enough to hide your loss.

Where do they come from? The dust. Where do they go? The grave. Does blood stir their veins? No: the night wind. What ticks in their head? The worm. What speaks from their mouth? The toad. What sees from their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars.

Death loves death, not life. Dying people love to know that others die with them. It is a comfort to learn you are not alone in the kiln, in the grave.

What Joyce called "the grave and constant" in human sufferings Campbell knew to be a principal theme of classic mythology.

It was a great peace, as if the earth had been one grave, and for a time I stood there thinking mostly of the living who, buried in remote places out of the knowledge of mankind, are still fated to share in its tragic or grotesque miseries. In its noble struggles too -- who knows? The human heart is vast enough to contain all the world. It is valient enough to bear the burden, but where is the courage that would cast it off?

And for a moment it seemed to me as if I also were buried in a vast grave full of unspeakable secrets.

It was this mystery, bereft now of all fear, and this beauty together that made life the endless, changing and yet changeless, thing it was. And yet mystery and loveliness alike were really only appreciable with one's legs, as it were, dangling down over into the grave.

But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust.