Quotes About Cemetery

The rest of Mayakovsky's body was placed in a coffin on a red cube. Later it was taken to a cemetery on a flatbed truck. Beside it stood a wreath made of sledgehammers, screws, and gears. Everything was calculated and precise, as it should be when the future arrives.

The only place where you can find equality is in the cemetery.

A collection of bad love songs, tattered from overuse, has to touch us like a cemetery or a village. So what if the houses have no style, if the graves are vanishing under tasteless ornaments and inscriptions? Before an imagination sympathetic and respectful enough to conceal momentarily its aesthetic disdain, that dust may release a flock of souls, their beaks holding the still verdant dreams that gave them an inkling of the next world and let them rejoice or weep in this world.

pleasant-enough place, as cemeteries went, and if somebody had told him that he'd be buried there, after a life of, say, a hundred forty years and much more sex and barbecue, he would have been content with the prospect.

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 tide goes out imperceptibly. The boulders show and seem to rise up and the ocean recedes leaving little pools, leaving wet weed and moss and sponge, iridescence and brown and blue and China red. On the bottoms lie the incredible refuse of the sea, shells broken and chipped and bits of skeleton, claws, the whole sea bottom a fantastic cemetery on which the living scamper and scramble.

And certainly there were many others besides my grandmother and Albertine from whom I had assimilated a word, a glance, but of whom as individual beings I remembered nothing; a book is a great cemetery in which, for the most part, the names upon the tombs are effaced. Sometimes, on the other hand,

The memory of most men is an abandoned cemetery where lie, unsung and unhonored, the dead whom they have ceased to cherish. Any lasting grief is reproof to their neglect.

Losing my homies in a hurry, they're relocating to the cemetery.

The only real equality is in the cemetery

He stood, looking out for a few seconds at the darkness that was Arlington Cemetery. He knew every man sleeping there, and in the hundreds of tended cemeteries and lost graves of American soldiers throughout the world. These men slept knowing before they died they could trust their leaders. He turned to face the Chairman.

I went to the Protestant cemetery, and it sounds really morbid, but when I came here, I thought that this is where I want to die. I feel spiritually found here.

Soon your ashes fly to the veterans' cemetery at Arlington, where once a Confederate general would have counted you among his mules and pigs. This poet's coat is your last poem. I want to write a poem like this coat, with buttons and pockets and green cloth, a poem useful as a coat to a coughing man.

My luck is so bad that if I bought a cemetery, people would stop dying.

They were dreamers—and they dreamt themselves into the cemetery.

The sky all at once is overhead dim and grey, puzzle of blocks sprawl, their own horizon; the city looks like a cemetery full of weak daylight, cool and a little wrong, making Ella feel a little put upon, like leap-year day—nothing in itself, but a nudge jostling every other day.

Every time we'd pass a cemetery, he'd say, 'That's the dead center of Toronto. People are dying to get in there, mate.

In the middle of the cemetery is a grassy plane, strangely vacant. There are no granite tombs or crumbling concrete, just a sun-washed treeless patch of green known as "No Man's Land." Here 1,500 unidentified bodies are buried. At one time, their skin burned with yellow fever; now they lie in a cool, dark place where long ago their arms and legs, hands and feet, were intertwined for eternity.

Randy [Rhoads] was laid to rest at a place called Mountain View Cemetery, where his grandparents were buried. I made a vow there and then to honour his death every year by sending flowers. Unlike most of my vows, I kept it. But I've never been back to his graveside. I'd like to go there again one day, before I finally join him on the other side.

Over 300,000 veterans from the U.S. armed forces, from the Revolutionary War to the war in Iraq, have been laid to rest in these 612 serene acres overlooking the Potomac, and more than 100 graveside services are still held every week—so many that the cemetery is projected to run out of space by 2020.

Well, it didn't feel very good to have half of our mystery spoiled for us. We found out that Barry and Eagle Eye had made it up between them that Eagle Eye was to put on a wig and do what he had done, just to give us an adventure in that Indian cemetery.

The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.

Immediately across the road is a ruined abbey and cemetery. As I haven't visited one since late yesterday afternoon, I decide to take a look. On the whole, it's fair to say that, if you're travelling round the west of Ireland, an interest in ruined abbeys, however slight, will stand you in better stead than a passion for rollerblading, say or a penchant for showbiz gossip.